Helpless
by Antigone
Summary: This was not a Soc Darry’s muscles could scare off, not a nightmare Soda’s arm would chase away. This was inside me, eating away, and no matter how much my brother’s wanted to get rid of it they were helpless.
1. Part I: Disease

(Pony)  
  
"Hurry up, ya'll be late!" Darry called, banging our door open. Soda groaned and rolled away, pulling his arm off of my chest.  
  
"Hmmm," he murmured. "What time is it?"  
  
"Seven-thirty."  
  
"Damn it!" he shot out of bed. I stayed put; I wasn't feeling all that great. Kinda sick. I'd been sick too often lately; since Dally and Johnny died.  
  
"Pony, come on, hurry up."  
  
"I'm awake," I mumbled, struggling to a sitting position. My chest ached; it hurt to breathe. Soda bounded out of the room, but Darry was watching me closely. "You all right?"  
  
I nodded, waiting the pain out. Leftovers of grief. Plus I hadn't been sleeping well; I'd been having the nightmares again, waking Soda in the middle of the night.  
  
"Hurry up so you'll get to eat something," my oldest brother said, disappearing down the hall.  
  
I dragged myself up, but the second my feet touched the floor I stumbled, struck by dizziness. My chest HURT. Bad. I grabbed at my bureau, steadying myself, forcing breaths in around the pain.  
  
"Anyone home?" I heard Steve holler from the hall. "Y'all gonna be late if you don't hassle!"  
  
"We're comin', we're comin'," Soda called. I heard him approaching our room and struggled to pull some clothes loose from the drawer. The tight pain in my lungs eased slowly off.  
  
"Pon, you dressed?" my brother burst in clad in blue jeans and socks. "You see my shirt?"  
  
I shook my head, hoping I looked normal enough that Soda wouldn't notice.  
  
"Better hurry, kiddo."  
  
"I'm hurryin'," I mumbled, but my voice sounded strange and wheezy. And that was all it took for Soda to notice.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
I nodded. "Just tired," I tried to reassure him.  
  
"Hell, I know how that feels," he mumbled, throwing on his DX shirt. I felt a stab of guilt; a stab that hit me right in the lungs again. I'd woken Soda up every night for almost a week now, from my nightmares.  
  
"Soda?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"Getting' you up."  
  
Soda grinned. "Don't worry 'bout it."  
  
I nodded and got dressed. The pain backed off again.  
  
I oughta quit smoking, I thought as I greased my hair back.  
  
"Ponyboy! Hurry up!" Darry called from the hallway.  
  
I splashed cold water on my face and took a deep breath, driving the pain off. I'm all right now, I assured myself, and went into the kitchen without a second thought. 


	2. Gym

(Two Bit)  
  
"Heads up Ponyboy!" I shouted, hurling a volleyball straight for him.  
  
"Dang it, Two-Bit!" he hollered back, dodging and glaring at me. "How'd we ever end up in the same gym class?"  
  
I laughed. "You're just lucky, ya know?"  
  
"Curtis, Matthews, take a lap!" the Coach called from the side of the gym.  
  
"But it was..." Pony started, then shut his mouth and glared at me. "Thanks a lot," he mumbled.  
  
"We've gotta take a lap every day," I groaned, beginning to jog beside Ponyboy.  
  
"'Well, glory, Two-Bit, maybe you could quit hurlin' stuff at me and maybe we wouldn't have to run everyday."  
  
"It's all in good fun," I flashed my younger friend a grin, but Pony's labored breathing and pale, sweating face quickly chased it away. "Hey, Pon.you all right?"  
  
Pony nodded weakly, but he slowed down. We were practically walking now: not at all normal for Pony, who was one of the school's best runners.  
  
"You look like shit, kid."  
  
"Thanks," he mumbled, but his voice was airy. "I'm all right; gotta quit smoking," he mumbled, but it was half-hearted. He winced and rubbed at his chest weakly.  
  
"Ponyboy..."  
  
He gasped. I felt my stomach drop; his breath was deep and raspy, as if his lungs were filled. With what, I didn't know. He doubled over, coughing, slightly at first, then more and more violently. We'd stopped moving at that point, and I stood there shocked.  
  
"Pony, Ponyboy, what's wrong? Are you okay? What is it?"  
  
"Curtis, Matthews, you ain't through yet!" the Coach hollered from across the floor.  
  
Pony's coughs jerked his whole body at that point. He stumbled and fell to his knees, gasping for air and coughing harder with each intake of breath. I looked up; greasers and socials alike had frozen, staring at the youngest Curtis. His coughs echoed off the high walls of the gymnasium. I grabbed his shoulders and tried to steady him.  
  
"Take it easy," I tried to reassure him, not really knowing how.  
  
"What's the matter?" the Coach demanded, racing to us. "Ponyboy, take a deep breath..."  
  
But Pony leaned back, a single tear making its way down his face before he slumped over, out cold. But not before I noticed the trickle of red running out from between his teeth.  
  
Blood. Coming from his mouth.  
  
Shit, what's happening?  
  
"What happened to him?" the Coach shouted, panic crossing over his face.  
  
"I don't know!" I shouted back.  
  
He leapt up and shouted toward the stunned students. "Run to the office! Get them to call a paramedic!"  
  
Several students took off.  
  
Don't let this happen, I thought numbly, remembering the lights of the ambulance that had shown over the street the night Dally was killed, the ambulance that had arrived to take away his corpse and ended up rushing an unconscious Pony to the hospital. It was my fault he had collapsed; I'd known he was sick and hadn't told Darry. Darry never would have let him fight if he had a fever. And now...  
  
I was the reason he had to run. Oh God, not again...  
  
He's sick again, I thought, staring at the unconscious boy, he's sick again and it's my fault. 


	3. Call

(Darry)  
  
"Darrel!" my friend Memphis yelled from the ground below. I wiped sweat off my forehead and peered down at him.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You've gotta phone call," he gestured to the phone in the front of his truck.  
  
"Can it wait?" I shouted, exasperated, dropping my hammer on top of a pile of roofing.  
  
"'Think you'd better take it," he called after listening for a moment. "Something about your brother."  
  
"Which one?"  
  
"The horse."  
  
"Very funny," I snapped, making my way down the ladder. Memphis laughed, then suddenly stopped, listening intently. He was somber by the time I reached him. I felt my heart jump.  
  
"What's wrong?" I demanded. Memphis bit his lip and held out the receiver without a word. "Hello?" I said, a little louder than necessary.  
  
"Darry?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"It's Two-Bit. I'm at the hospital with Ponyboy. Don't freak out."  
  
"Hospital? Why? What the hell happened?"  
  
"I don't know. Look, we were in gym and he just...he sorta passed out. Don't freak..." "What the hell do you mean, 'sorta passed out?'"  
  
"I don't know, okay! We had to run in gym, and he started coughing and...I don't know, I ain't a doctor. But the nurse came and Coach had someone call a paramedic and they brought him here."  
  
I closed my eyes. The sun suddenly seemed brighter. My heart pounded in my chest: I remembered Soda's phone call, his voice shaking, informing me that he was in a police car on his way to the hospital.  
  
"Something's happened with Mom and Dad," he'd told me, "but no one will tell me anything."  
  
"...be here," Two-Bit said.  
  
"Huh?" I snapped back to reality.  
  
"You oughta be here, Dar."  
  
"All right, all right. Just stay with him, okay? I'm on my way." I slammed down Memphis' car phone only to scoop it back up to dial Soda's work.  
  
"I've gotta get out of here," I mumbled to my co-worker as the phone rang at the DX. "Do you mind? Can you cover for me?"  
  
"It's not a problem. Is Ponyboy okay?"  
  
"I don't know," I said at the same time Steve answered with a 'hello?"  
  
"Steve, put Soda on."  
  
"Darry?"  
  
"Yeah. Put him on."  
  
"He's with a customer."  
  
"Cover for him."  
  
"But."  
  
"Pony's in the hospital."  
  
"Glory, you shoulda said so!" Steve put me on hold. I tried to take a deep breath; now was not a good time to go to pieces, not before I knew what was even going on. It's just that Pony didn't deserve this, not after what he'd just been through. This is probably just some leftovers from last time he was sick, I thought, he's still tired, that's all.  
  
"Dar?" Soda's fearful voice came on.  
  
"Yeah. Listen, I'm on my way to the hospital. I'm going to pick you up, okay?"  
  
"What's going on? Is Pony all right?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Don't know? What do you mean? What happened?"  
  
"Soda, I don't know, okay? I'll tell you what Two-Bit told me when I pick you up."  
  
Soda drew a deep breath before telling me to hurry up. I ended the call and bolted for my truck without another word to my co-workers, hoping that this was as simple as I was trying to convince myself it was. 


	4. Abnormalities

(Soda)  
  
"We're running a few more tests," the doctor told an anxious Darry, Two-Bit and I.  
  
"What do you mean, a few more tests? What for?" I asked, louder than I needed to. I wasn't taking this well. Pony had just gotten better, we'd just started to move on, why is this happening now? Why does EVERYTHING have to happen to him? He's just a kid still; I forget that sometimes. We all do.  
  
"Because there are some things that concern me," the doctor said coolly.  
  
"What sort of things?" Darry asked. He was trying to stay calm, to act like the adult and keep Two-bit and I grounded. He wasn't doing a good job.  
  
"Let me worry about them for now."  
  
"Hey, no," Two-Bit jumped in, "he's their concern, and if something concerns you they have more of a right to know than you have to test him."  
  
The doctor frowned. "I am concerned with the x-rays of his lungs. I don't think you should worry yourselves with anything more than that until we run the tests."  
  
"But what exactly are you looking for?" I asked, exasperated. I didn't like knowing that my little brother was back there, that we couldn't see him: we didn't even know what was going on.  
  
"Abnormalities," was all the doctor said before he headed off.  
  
"That sonofa..." Two-Bit started.  
  
"No," Darry said suddenly. "He's right. No need to worry us when nothing might be wrong."  
  
"But what's with his lungs? And why can't we at least see him?" I snapped, beginning to pace. I hate this I hate this I hate this.  
  
I thought of the ride to the hospital the day my parents were killed. I'd called Darry from inside the police car, Pony silent and pale beside me. I'd felt helpless. And that's what I was then: helpless.  
  
Two-Bit plopped down on one of the benches in waiting room and hung his head. Darry just sighed and went back to filling out a huge pile of forms. I paced.  
  
"Wish I hadn't made him run," Two-Bit finally mumbled, and it hit me what was wrong: he was blaming himself.  
  
I sat beside him and touched his shoulder. "This ain't your fault," I said softly. "Whatever happened, it wasn't your fault."  
  
"It's like the night Dal and Johnny died," he mumbled. "I knew he'd been running a fever..."  
  
I wasn't used to seeing Two-Bit this serious; suddenly, I felt a lot more nervous than I had before. It was as if reality set in for the first time: my brother was sick again. Maybe really sick.  
  
We're looking for.abnormalities. The word made me nauseous. Because it meant Pony might be sick. Inside sick. The kind of sick that could be deadly...  
  
"You can see him now," the doctor interrupted my thoughts. 


	5. Diagnosis

(Pony)  
  
My chest still hurt, but I could breathe a little easier. The air seeping through my nose felt cleaner. I tried to move, to open my eyes, but my limbs felt too heavy.  
  
Where am I? I thought dully. This definitely wasn't the gym. Maybe I'm home. Maybe this is all just part of one of my nightmares, and I'll wake up beside Soda and it'll be all right. Maybe I never started coughing in gym like that. Maybe my lungs never seized...  
  
I tried to open my eyes, but they were heavy and stubborn. I felt a touch of panic snake up from my stomach.  
  
What's wrong with me? I thought. My body didn't normally work this slow. I swallowed, but even this was difficult and painful. I wanted my brothers, or Two-Bit, or ANYONE for that matter...  
  
"Ponyboy?" a voice called. My mind whirled to process this new sound. Someone's hand touched the side of my face. "Come on, can you wake up?"  
  
I want to! I screamed inside. But when I tried to speak I only groaned.  
  
"You're okay," another voice, this one from the other side of me. "You're all right now. Come on, wake up."  
  
I struggled to open my eyes and managed to get them to slits; the light hurt too much to open them all the way. I tried to shield them with my hand, but my right arm ached, as if a bee had stung me.  
  
"Hey, kid," the first voice murmured. Slowly I turned, forced my eyes to look into my brother's worried face. Soda smiled broadly when I blinked at him. "Geeze, Pon, you never stop giving us scares, do you?"  
  
I forced my lips up into a half-grin, but even that took more strength than I had.  
  
"You all right?" the second voice asked. I turned to see Darry, hands thrust in his pockets, on the other side of me. I tried to nod; that was when I realized that there were tubes in my nose.  
  
"Sorry," I managed to wheeze. My voice sounded raspy, and I swallowed again to try to smooth over the dryness of my throat. "I got through 'bout a week...with no screw-ups," I tried to explain when he looked at me funny.  
  
"Hey, this wasn't your fault," Soda snapped, ruffling my hair. "Just take it easy, okay?"  
  
"What's..." I suddenly felt horribly weak and closed my eyes again, "...wrong with me?"  
  
Silence. That scared me; gave me the strength I'd been missing.  
  
"Guys?"  
  
I opened my eyes to see Two-Bit in the doorway. He grinned at me sheepishly. "Hey, Ponyboy."  
  
I tried to smile back, but I was beginning to shake. "Hey, Two-Bit."  
  
He hung nervously in the doorway. "You feelin' better?"  
  
"A little."  
  
"Doc said he'd be by in a few minutes. He's waitin' on some tests."  
  
"Tests?" I asked, turning back to Soda. "Tests for what?"  
  
My brothers exchanged anxious glances. "We ain't really sure," Soda said slowly.  
  
"It's probably nothin', Pony," Darry jumped in. "Just tryin' to figure out what's wrong."  
  
"You mean they don't know?"  
  
"Not yet."  
  
I swallowed again. Why not? Why wouldn't they? There was nothing REALLY wrong with me...right? I was just tired. Just a cold or exhaustion or something simple...right?  
  
Soda stroked my hair. "Pony, don't worry, okay? There's nothin' wrong. Just Doc stuff, all right? 'Member that time I broke my arm and they wanted to test me for STD's 'cause they'd just found out they existed?"  
  
"Soda, you were eight when you broke your arm!" Darry snapped.  
  
"So? Didn't stop them."  
  
I laughed weakly, but instantly decided it was a bad idea; my lungs began burning again. I coughed; a quiet sound that sent stabs of pain through my chest. And made me cough more. I felt fear growing again as I coughed harder and harder, remembering the shock in gym class as I could no longer stand...  
  
"Take it easy, little buddy," Darry murmured, kneeling beside me. Soda kept stroking my hair. But they were scared; and that made me feel worse.  
  
Something shot into the back of my throat; I swallowed it down, feeling nauseous at the thought. But at least the coughing slowed.  
  
"You shouldn't excite him," the doctor said suddenly as he entered. He placed his hand on my chest. He held a stack of papers and a grim look on his face. "You're going to have to watch: no smoking, no running, no wind, and minimum laughter."  
  
"Do you know what's wrong?" Darry asked anxiously. The doctor nodded slowly.  
  
"You're his legal guardian?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"All right. There are two ways we can go about this. One, I speak to you alone. Two, you all take it together." He glanced at Two-Bit. "Who're you?"  
  
"A friend."  
  
"Family only, right now."  
  
He nodded and slipped away, shutting the door. I was too frightened to protest. I glanced at Soda, who had set his jaw very, very tight. He didn't take his eyes off the doctor, but he did continue to stroke my hair.  
  
Darry glanced at the two of us and spoke for the three of us: "we'll take it together."  
  
The doctor nodded and slipped an X-Ray from a folder. He held it above my bed, letting the light shine through so I could see the transparent photo of my lungs.  
  
But something was wrong.  
  
"Do you see those circles?"  
  
We nodded. I don't think one of us could have found our voices.  
  
"Well, we ran some preliminary tests and found some disturbing numbers. Your body is trying to fight infection. But it can't. Then when I saw the X- Rays I ran the rest of the tests. Understand, we are in the primary stages of diagnoses. This is all new for the medical profession as well. Which is why I was hesitant in letting you know." The doctor sighed and slipped the X-Ray back in its folder. "But we are certain now. Everything came back positive. I'm very sorry."  
  
"Sir," Darry finally started. I looked at him; he was awfully pale. Soda grabbed my hand and held tight. I was lost; I had no idea what it was he was going on about. "What exactly are we talking about here?"  
  
The doctor look startled. "I'm sorry. I thought you understood."  
  
He looked at me now, softening slightly. "You're looking at tumors, Ponyboy," he said softly. "You're looking at cancer."  
  
Cancer.  
  
The word seemed to echo off the walls, ricochet like a bullet  
  
Cancercancercancer  
  
And shoot me straight in the heart  
  
I have cancer.  
  
This was not a Soc Darry's muscles could scare off, not a nightmare Soda's arm would chase away. This was inside me, eating away, and no matter how much my brother's wanted to get rid of it they were helpless.  
  
  
  
******* Note: I have NO idea about medical stuff! Hope this works anyway. 


	6. Silence

(Steve)  
  
"Where are they?" I asked a very solemn Two-Bit. I'd called the Curtis' house every few hours, but when no one answered at five o'clock I drove to the hospital straight from work. I wasn't worried; I'd never really liked Ponyboy. Too weak, too clingy, always hovering around me and Soda. But I also knew that if something was wrong Soda might want me around. Besides, I didn't want anything bad to actually happen to the kid.  
  
Two-Bit silently jerked his thumb toward the shut door. "They've been in there with the Doc for close to an hour."  
  
I shrugged and lit a cigarette. "You know hospitals. Slow as hell."  
  
My friend shook his head. "I don't know if that's it, Steve."  
  
I stopped in mid-breath, then slowly exhaled. "Whatta you mean?"  
  
Two-Bit told me about what happened in gym class and waiting with Darry and Soda.  
  
"And then the Doc came by with a huge stack of papers and ordered me out."  
  
"They always do that. 'Member how you couldn't see Johnny and Dal right away?"  
  
Two-Bit nodded and lit a weed of his own. I smoked quickly, trying to settle my nerves. I didn't like the silence of the hospital, my friend, or the room beside us. We'd lost too much. The Curtis' had suffered enough: first their parents, then Pony's disappearance. Although I'd heard that Pony had had it rough, with Windrixville and all, it was Darry and Soda I had seen: waiting in that all too quiet house for them to drive to work. Darry would come out of his room first, drawn and pale, his eyes unusually moist and sensitive. He hadn't eaten or slept much, and he kept glancing out the windows as if hoping to catch sight of his youngest brother coming home from the movies, as he had the day the Socs grabbed him. Soda'd be out next, his eyes bloodshot from a sleeplessness night full of tears. Sandy and Pony at once. I pitied him more; not only because he was my best friend, but also because he had that empty half of the bed to deal with, and I wondered how many times during the night he'd gone to throw his arm around the brother who wasn't there.  
  
The door opened. I heard Soda's voice, low and steady, and watched Darry and the doctor emerge before the oldest Curtis shut it firmly behind him. We hovered their awkwardly as the doctor handed Darry a large stack of papers.  
  
"This is not without hope," the doctor said unconvincingly. I'd never seen Darry so white. He kept nodding in agreement with whatever the doc told him. But I could see his hands were shaking. "Money is, of course, an issue, but it's one you can work around. Advertise the situation at schools and churches, and I'm sure you'll get donations. And most Catholic hospitals will take cases and set up payment plans. Keep in mind too, that all of this is new to the medical field, so there are all sorts of studies going on. He could participate in one. Just keep your options open. I really need to be going." And without another word he swept toward the nurses' station, leaving the three of us standing there.  
  
"Dar?" Two-Bit murmured. Darry turned and stared at us, then took a deep breath and sighed. "Is Pony all right?"  
  
"No," he snapped. "No, he's not, and it looks like he's never gonna be again."  
  
I dropped my cigarette, suddenly regretting every obnoxious or irritating thing I had ever done to my best friend's kid brother. "What do you mean? Darry? What's wrong with him?"  
  
"He has cancer," Darry said simply, turning abruptly and heading down the hall. "I'm going for a walk. To clear my head."  
  
"Can we see him?" Two-Bit called.  
  
"If he wants," he shouted as he disappeared around the corridor.  
  
Two-Bit and I stared at each other.  
  
"Cancer," I repeated.  
  
"Jesus Christ," Two-Bit moaned.  
  
And we stood there in silence. 


	7. Fight

(Two-Bit)  
  
I knocked on the door to Pony's room. Steve had lit another cigarette and was smoking anxiously as we waited for an answer.  
  
"Yeah?" Soda called.  
  
"It's Steve and me."  
  
Silence. Then: "come in."  
  
Soda was sitting on the bed beside a very, very pale and small-looking Ponyboy. Their eyes were slightly pink, but they seemed calmer then I would have thought. Pony tried to grin at us.  
  
"Hey, y'all."  
  
"Hey kid," I said, surprised at the tenderness in my own voice. Soda looked away and stared at the floor.  
  
"Where's Darry?" he asked suddenly.  
  
"He went for a walk."  
  
Pony swallowed and coughed slightly. Soda jumped at the sound and turned, but Pony just closed his eyes and muttered that he was okay. We waited in awkward silence until his breathing was normal again.  
  
"He ain't mad, is he?" he finally whispered.  
  
"Naw," I said, overly cheerful. "Just a little drained...you know...doc must've talked your ears off."  
  
He nodded weakly. "Too much at once...but you know, there's a lot to...figure out."  
  
Soda closed his eyes. "Pony, do you mind if I go talk to Steve by himself for a sec?"  
  
Pony suddenly looked scared; more so then when we'd first entered. I felt a growing nervousness: what was going on? First Darry walks off, now Soda?  
  
Pony must've been thinking the same thing. "But then..."  
  
"Just for a minute," Soda mumbled, and that was when I saw a tear slip down his face. He had to get out and blow off the feeling bottled within him, and couldn't do it in front of his younger brother.  
  
They're scared, I thought, they are really, really scared and they're trying to be strong for Pony because he's gotta be terrified.  
  
Pony reached out and touched his brother's arm, and without looking at him Soda took his hand and squeezed it, then stood up and rushed out of the room, Steve hurrying behind him.  
  
I turned back to Pony, at a horrid loss for words.  
  
"So.coach won't make you run laps anymore."  
  
He grinned. "You're off the hook too."  
  
"I'll just slug some Soc sophomore everyday."  
  
Pony nodded, but he suddenly looked paler. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "Doc says I can go home soon," I mumbled, "but I don't think I'll be going back to school."  
  
I didn't know what to say. After a moment he opened his eyes.  
  
"That night of the rumble, Darry told me that you thought it was your fault I was sick...'cause of me bein' warm at the bus stop...remember?"  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
"Well, don't worry 'bout it. It was...this."  
  
We looked at each other for a sec; I knew he was putting on a show. I could see it, the same way I could when he'd read in the paper that they might put him and Soda in a boys' home after Johnny had killed the Soc.  
  
I looked at the floor, uncomfortable.  
  
"Just wanted you to know that..." Pony said slowly, "...you know...in case..." he dropped off. It hit me what he was doing.  
  
"Hey!" I nearly shouted, spinning around, startling him. "Shut the hell up! I don't wanna hear you talkin' like that, here? We've lost a lot, and if you think we're gonna stand back and lose you too, you're wrong. You're Goddamned wrong, got that?" I was surprised at the conviction of my own emotions.  
  
Pony tried to smile, but his eyes were filled, because deep down we both knew that there was absolutely nothing we could do. This was not Socs to be chased off, not the state to be argued with. If this wanted to kill him it could; and we'd have no choice but to watch, the same way we did when Dally went down under the streetlight.  
  
But Godamnit, I thought, we'll do what we always do: we'll put up a fight. 


	8. Failed

(Darry)  
  
I wound my way through the corridors, racing down one hallway and another until I found one with two vending machines and no people. I sank down on a seat, the papers from the doctor in my hands, and fought wildly at the tears that threatened to spill. Pony is sick, I thought, Pony is very, very sick, and from what the Doc told me he is going to die. Not without hope means there is none. My little brother is going to die.  
  
"The cancer is still in its preliminary stages," the doctor had told us after dropping the cancer bomb. Soda had gone so white he looked like paper, I had shoved my hands in my pockets so no one saw them shake, and Pony had just stared in disbelief, then whimpered and closed his eyes. "But dealing with it is something brand new to the medical field. And given your...economic situation, I'd say your treatment plans are limited."  
  
"You're telling me that I'm going to die," Pony'd whispered. Soda'd made a funny noise, and shut his eyes tight, as if he were in physical pain. I'd just felt frozen, as if my mind were a record player stuck on one word.  
  
Cancer.  
  
God I wanted my parents. I wanted them to make the decisions lying ahead, I wanted them to calm our fears, to take on the doctors and bills, the disease itself.  
  
But hearing the despair, fear, and grief in my youngest brothers' voice snapped me back to reality.  
  
"He isn't saying that, Pon," I snapped, laying a hand on his shoulder. I'd turned back to the doctor, who had stared at me blankly. "Tell me everything we can do. Forget our 'economic situation.'"  
  
So he had, discussing chemotherapy, radiation, and a myriad of strange ones that sounded more like old women fetching things from the woods then real medicine. But rather than becoming more and more hopeful as he went on, the three of us felt a heavier and heavier weight on our chests. There was no cure. There simply wasn't. And all of the semi-cures cost more than we'd ever be able to afford.  
  
I'm sorry, Pony. I've failed you. I'm always failing you. When I tried to keep you safe from the Socs you got jumped. When I tried to keep you safe from the streets and I made you a runaway. And now when I thought all the external danger might be gone this thing snuck up on us and got you anyway. And now...  
  
You may be dying.  
  
You may be dying, little brother, and I can't save you. I can't do anything.  
  
I stared at the huge piles of papers in my hands, each one meant to give us hope. After all...  
  
This is not without hope. This is not without hope. This is not without hope.  
  
I took a deep breath. I'll do whatever it takes, I thought. Everything it takes. I'll get us donations and I'll ask for raises and I'll work more jobs, if I have to. I'll never sleep. But I'll do my damndest to save him.  
  
I took a deep breath and rose, slowly walking back toward my youngest brothers' room. He was going to need me. And I was going to be there for him, every miserable step of the way.  
  
Even if he was walking toward his grave. 


	9. Terror

(Soda)  
  
"I don't know what to do, Steve," I nearly cried to my best friend. "He's sick and he's scared and there's nothing we can do to save him..."  
  
Please don't let me cry here, I thought, desperately holding back the tears, just don't let me cry here, I don't want to cry, I can't cry in front of everyone, don't let me cry...  
  
Steve rested his hand on my shoulder. "How bad is it, Soda?"  
  
I turned away, looking off down the hall, remembering bits and pieces of what the doc had said, remembering the violent sickness that had seized my stomach when I saw the circles clinging to his lungs, remembering the pallor of Pony's face when the doctor finally said cancer. And how he'd gotten whiter and whiter as the treatments were described, as he realized that there really wasn't too much hope for him. I'd sat with him when Darry walked the doctor to the door, before Two-Bit had knocked.  
  
"We're gonna get you through this," I'd murmured, fighting my own tears. Pony'd just closed his eyes and laid very, very still. I'd touched his arm. "We will. We'll do whatever it takes. You just gotta fight, hear me kid? You fight and we'll get you whatever we have to..."  
  
"Soda?" my brother'd whimpered, reaching for my hand. "Can you just be quiet and sit with me?"  
  
He'd been trembling all over, fighting with the little strength he had to keep the tears inside when they were dying to spill out. I'd stroked his hair in silence, fighting my own emotions, trying to call on strength I wasn't sure I had.  
  
"Soda?" Steve's voice snapped me back to the hallway. "How bad is it?"  
  
I took a deep breath. "It's not that...advanced I guess you'd call it," I started, trying to understand exactly what had been told to us. "But there isn't really any sure cure...and the stuff's that's out there is so expensive. And there's no guarantee on anything..."  
  
Steve was silent. I heard him strike a match, and suddenly he pressed a cigarette between my fingers. I put it to my lips and inhaled without a word, relieved as my trembling slowed down.  
  
"I won't call these cancer sticks anymore," Steve mumbled. Comments like that never had won him friends: but I understood him. He was just confused, and ticked off that Pony had to be sick because he didn't deserve to be, and he didn't have a decent way to deal. Because there was nothing to make this feel better: it hurt.  
  
"Look," Steve said awkwardly, looking away as he smoked, "whatever happens...if you wanna talk or something...I just mean, Two-Bit and I are gonna help."  
  
I looked him straight in the eyes and managed a small but sincere grin. "I know."  
  
I could count on him. I'd always been able to count on him.  
  
For the first time since Darry'd called the station, I felt like things could be okay. And then the door flew open and Two-Bit said: 'get help,' as inside Ponyboy let out a wail of terror. 


	10. Blood

(Pony)  
  
It's blood, it's blood, it's blood  
  
I had started coughing and went to cover my mouth, and suddenly my hands were spotted with red that burst from my lips before I could force it back down.  
  
That's what's been in my throat, that's what I've been swallowing, my own blood...  
  
The scream had escaped from my throat when I'd caught sight of my hands.  
  
"Pony, Ponyboy, what's wrong?" Soda rushed over, catching sight of my hands and the red clinging to my lips and coating my teeth and suddenly understanding. "Oh Christ...okay. Okay, relax, all right?" He took my hands and began wiping them off with his shirt. "You're in a hospital. They'll take care of you. And I'm here, me and Darry both. It's okay, kid, hear me? Just relax, Pony..."  
  
"What's going on?" Darry demanded, racing back in. I was sobbing by then.  
  
"I can't do this Soda, I can't even try to do this, I'm too scared to do this, this can't be happening this is a bad dream, it's the one that I can never remember, I'll wake up and I won't remember this..." I was weeping. Soda finished drying off my hands and rubbed my arm, his own eyes filled, shushing me.  
  
"It's all right, kiddo. It's gonna be all right. Please don't cry, please, Pon. Huh? You're gonna be okay. We won't let anything happen to you."  
  
"I've been coughing up blood, Soda!" I shrieked at my brother. "Nothing is okay!"  
  
Darry suddenly laid a hand on my chest and pushed me down against the mattress. "You're gonna knock your tubes out," he murmured, "you need to lie still."  
  
"What's going on here?" the doctor demanded as a pale Two-Bit followed him into the room.  
  
"He spat up blood," Soda answered for me, beginning to stroke my hair back slowly. Normally his touch was all it took for me to relax, but not this time; I was trembling and fighting to calm down. I didn't want to be in pieces in front of Steve, Two-Bit, and the doctor.  
  
The doctor frowned, then took out a handkerchief and held it up to my mouth. "Cough," he commanded. I obeyed. It felt like everyone in the room was holding their breath as he drew it away.  
  
It was red.  
  
"This may be farther along than I thought," the doctor frowned.  
  
"You don't have any idea what's really happening with him, do you?" Darry snapped.  
  
I just closed my eyes again as my oldest brother began to argue with him. I'd known that this wasn't going to be easy from the moment the doctor had diagnosed me, but this was worse than I thought. I was choking, coughing, swallowing my own blood. My lungs were already deteriorating.  
  
"Pony?" Soda leaned over. I opened my eyes and stared at him; my confident, reckless, gentle brother who meant more to me than anyone. Unable to stop weeping, I reached out and let him wrap his arms around me, taking care not to lift me high enough to jostle my tubes. The room suddenly grew quiet: I hadn't noticed the others slip out into the hall.  
  
"I don't wanna die," I sobbed into my brother's shoulder, breathing in the smell of him; of gasoline, sweat, cheap cologne, tobacco, sweetness. He squeezed my shoulders as he held me, and I wanted to imagine that I was home and this was a nightmare I had just started from and now everything was going to be okay just because Soda was with me.  
  
"You won't," Soda said through gritted teeth, "You won't die. I won't let you."  
  
"But there's nothing you can do..."  
  
"Yes, there is. We'll get you help. We'll get you through this."  
  
I wept harder. Soda just held me and let me cry.  
  
I started thinking about everything the doctor had said, starting from the cancer point, but I couldn't remember very much. Darry had asked the questions: he'd been the voice of reason.  
  
But I'd seen how white he was.  
  
I understood him better; I knew why he had fled the room after the doctor had left. He was scared, maybe as scared as I was, because he was always worrying about losing someone who he loved the way he'd lost our parents. For the first time I was glad too. Because I knew that, although he'd made me crazy with his nagging, he'd never, ever give up on me.  
  
And Soda wouldn't either, I thought as my sobs slowed and my brother started talking in a low, steady voice, telling me that I'd be all right. Soda'll help me fight. And Two-Bit'll crack jokes. And Steve... ..well, maybe Steve would shutup for once.  
  
I let go of Soda and lay back down, wiping my eyes. I felt over the initial panic, the same way I had when I'd leaned on Johnny's shoulder and cried myself to sleep in Windrixville. I'd be stronger now.  
  
"Y'all okay?" Darry asked, poking his head in. Soda studied me, and I forced a weak smile, feeling some of my strength returning.  
  
"Yeah," I said softly. Soda smiled; another sign of relief.  
  
"I talked to the doc," my oldest brother began, "and it's common with your type of cancer to spit up some blood once and awhile."  
  
I nodded and rubbed my eyes. I wanted to sleep; but not here.  
  
"When can I go home?"  
  
"Tomorrow."  
  
"Why not now?"  
  
"They need to make sure you can breathe on your own."  
  
Two-Bit suddenly flew into the room, flung himself against the wall and hid out of sight from the hallway. "Shhhh," he hissed, peering around the hallway like a bad actor in a spy movie.  
  
"Glory Two-Bit, you'd think someone was after ya," Soda laughed, messing my hair.  
  
"Doc said family only," he grinned. "But when he turned I ran."  
  
"Can Steve come in?" I asked Darry. He frowned.  
  
"I don't know..."  
  
"Come on Dar," Soda began to regain some of his good humor, "if he wants Steve, let him in."  
  
Darry rolled his eyes, stuck his head into the hallway, grabbed Steve by the shirt and yanked him inside, lamming the door before the doctor could realize what we were up to.  
  
"You're looking better, Ponyboy," Two-Bit said, punching my shoulder affectionately. And looking around at the gang I felt better too: I wasn't alone. I could do this. I'd survived my parents' death, the Socs, and losing Johnny and Dally.  
  
I could beat cancer. 


	11. Part II: Cure

(Two-Bit)  
  
I stapled a flier to the bulletin board in the main hallway, catching my sleeve in the process. Frustrated, I tugged on it, causing the fabric to rip and hang limply down my arm.  
  
"Third time you've done that this week," Steve laughed from across the lobby.  
  
"Just shutup," I snapped, ticked because it was true: that was the third shirt I'd torn hanging damn fliers. The Curtis' needed donations: teachers had already made announcements during morning assembly, but the school was split because of the trouble with Pony, Johnny, and the Socs. Some kids were overly-eager to help; others practically cheered his illness. Steve had punched one of them outside the school. I had a feeling there'd be more fights soon.  
  
"Hey Two-Bit?" a familiar female voice asked from behind me. I spun around to see Cherry hovering behind me.  
  
"Glory Cherry, you trying to scare the life outta me?"  
  
"Sorry," she tried to smile. "Look...I heard that Pony's sick...is it true?"  
  
"Yeah," I said shortly, gesturing to the flier I'd made during study hall advertising for donations. Cherry nodded, but she suddenly looked near tears.  
  
"How bad is it?"  
  
I looked into her moist green eyes and didn't know how to answer. The truth seemed too harsh. I shrugged and looked away. "You gonna help?"  
  
"I'll give him everything I have," she said passionately, "I'll get my parents to make a donation. I'm sure Randy will too. And Marcia. I'll do anything I can." She looked at me pleadingly. "Just tell me...does he have a chance?"  
  
I looked at the determined set to her face: she sure was one hell of a chick. It was good to have her on our side; not only because she was kind, but because she may be able to convince a lot of the rich kids and their parents to help rather than hate Pony.  
  
"Yes," I said calmly. We all had to believe that. 


	12. Courage

(Soda)  
  
"Ponyboy?" I called to the quiet house. Darry hadn't wanted to leave him alone, but we couldn't afford to take off, with the bills we owed and were going to owe.  
  
I heard violent coughing coming from the bathroom and rushed to throw open the door. My brother was bent over the sink, spitting out blood. I rubbed his shoulders as his body shuddered.  
  
"It's okay," I murmured. He moaned and reached for a glass, rinsing his mouth.  
  
"Third Godamned time today," he mumbled, shaking me hands off. "Not that you'd all know 'cause you're at work." Pony stomped angrily out of the bathroom toward our bedroom. I followed.  
  
"I'm sorry," I said miserably. "It's just that..."  
  
"I know," my brother sighed, collapsing across our bed. He was awfully pale; he hadn't slept well in the hospital and he'd had his famous nightmare again last night. "It's because I can't have cigarettes," he mumbled. "I didn't realize how badly I need them."  
  
I nodded. "Did you eat something?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Do you want something?"  
  
"No."  
  
"You oughta keep your strength up."  
  
My brother sighed and curled up on the bed. "I'm tired."  
  
"I bet."  
  
"Sorry I..."  
  
"Don't. It's not important," I jumped before he could finish his apology. "Scoot over," I added. He crawled to his side of the bed and I stretched out beside him, throwing an arm around his shoulders.  
  
I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep, but my mind was whirring with too many thoughts. Pony pressed his back against my chest; his breathing eased and deepened. But as hard as I tried to relax to the sound of his breathing, I couldn't. So I lay there and watched him sleep, his body so close to mind that he'd rock slightly with the rise and fall of my chest.  
  
You can't be sick, I thought, you can't be. And you absolutely can not die.  
  
What would I do without you?  
  
The sad thing was, Pony never realized how important he was to Darry and I. He thought we just put up with him-even me. He thought all he did was cause us grief or make us worry; he completely forgot all the good times he'd given us, all the times he'd made me laugh, all the times he'd listened to my problems or my thoughts. He'd been the first person I'd ever told about being in love with Sandy.  
  
Sandy.  
  
I'd forgotten about her. She wasn't nearly as important now that Pony was sick. Really, really sick; so sick that he might die. And he sees this as a huge inconvenience to us.  
  
My brother stirred and whimpered beside me.  
  
"You all right?" I murmured, and he started and turned toward me.  
  
"I thought you were sleepin'."  
  
"Nah."  
  
"I didn't wake you, did I?"  
  
"Nope. I was just thinking."  
  
"Oh," Pony mumbled, turning away from me. He was trembling, almost as violently as he when he'd awake screaming or sweating in the middle of the night, calming down only with my arms tight around him.  
  
"You okay, kid?"  
  
"I'm all right," Pony whispered.  
  
I ruffled his hair with my free hand. "It's gonna be all right, kiddo."  
  
Pony was really shaking now. I pulled him tighter. He mumbled something I couldn't understand.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
My brother closed his eyes tight. "I just get scared sometimes.and not having cigarettes doesn't help." I pulled him around so he faced me. He pressed his face against my shoulder. And I did something I'd never had the courage to do before: I told him I loved him.  
  
And we both slept. 


	13. Pizza

(Darry)  
  
"Anyone home?" I called, tossing my tool belt down on the sofa. Soda's shoes were on the floor, and the mail was scattered over the coffee table.  
  
"Hiya honey," Two-Bit called in a high voice from the kitchen.  
  
"You might not wanna come in here right now, Dar!" Steve echoed.  
  
"Why not?" I snapped, stalking into the kitchen and instantly regretting it: the counters and floor were covered with flour, a bottle of olive oil had fallen over and was slowly leaking over the tile, the sink was running, the stove was turned up as high as it could go, and Steve and Two-Bit were in the middle of the mess wearing flowered aprons.  
  
"We're making pizza," Two-Bit explained.  
  
"You're making a mess!" I nearly screamed. Steve shushed me.  
  
"Jesus, shutup! Pony and Soda are passed out back there. Better not to wake them up."  
  
"Thanks," I mumbled as the phone rang. I left the disastrous kitchen to answer it. "Curtis residence?"  
  
"This is Dr. Rollins' office calling for Mr. Darrel Curtis." My heart leapt; Dr. Rollins was the chemotherapist we'd been referred to.  
  
"Speaking."  
  
"We're calling to reschedule the appointment you'd made for...I'm sorry, the name here seems wrong."  
  
"Ponyboy?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"That's his real name," I sighed, wishing my father hadn't been quite as original as he was.  
  
"Oh. Sorry. Anyway, we'd like to reschedule to earlier in the day."  
  
"It can't be earlier. My brother and I work."  
  
"Perhaps your parents could..."  
  
"My parents are dead." Never had been a graceful way to say that.  
  
A pause. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Fine. Just make the time work."  
  
I heard papers shuffling, and the receptionist sigh. "All right...how about tomorrow, four o'clock? That's the latest I can do."  
  
I swallowed hard; if I went to work early I could probably leave in time to get back, take Pony to the hospital, then if Soda could meet us there he could bring him home, except he'll need the car then and I have to get to my other job...  
  
"Two-Bit?" I shouted. He poked his now flour-covered head around the door. "Can you drive Pony and Soda home from chemotherapy tomorrow?"  
  
"Won't Pony be sick?"  
  
"I don't know. Look, can you?"  
  
"Sure, Dar. As long as the kid doesn't ralph in my car."  
  
"Glory Two-Bit, ya never give me a break, do you?" Pony suddenly appeared in the doorway.  
  
I heard a sigh beside my ear and remembered the receptionist on the phone. "That's fine," I rushed.  
  
"Very well. See you then. Remember he'll be unable to drive after treatment, and it's recommended that he not eat. The drugs cause extreme nausea."  
  
I closed my eyes and turned away from my younger brother. I didn't want him to see me pale, which I knew I was doing. "Fine. Thanks," I hung up. Pony frowned at me.  
  
"Who was that?"  
  
"Doc's office. You're going at four tomorrow."  
  
He shrugged. "Fine with me. Not like I have anything to do." He turned and caught sight of the kitchen. "Glory Two-Bit! What the hell have y'all been doing?"  
  
I just watched him, memorizing each detail of his face. He'd look a lot older by the time this was all done. 


	14. Ride

(Steve)  
  
"Can you give me a ride to the hospital?" Soda asked the next day. I slid out from under the car I was working on.  
  
"I dunno. If the boss lets me go, sure."  
  
"He will." I could tell he was anxious to get to the hospital. Pony was getting his first chemo in half an hour and he wanted to be there for him.  
  
I put down the wrench I was holding and fumbled for my car keys. Soda sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He looked tired. We'd had to haul him out of bed the other night so he could eat some of the pizza-type creation Two-Bit and I had finally concocted. He'd just sat at the table, unusually quiet, watching his younger brother from the corner of his eye. Pony'd been smiling and quiet like normal, but he hadn't touched anything and he'd had to run from the table once to spit blood into the bathroom sink.  
  
But he'll be all right, I thought confidently as Soda and I climbed into my car. Starting today he'll be all right. They're gonna start treatment and the things'll vanish.  
  
"Gotta cigarette?" Soda snapped me back to the present.  
  
"Sure." I handed him my pack and lighter, then started the car and pulled into the street. We rode in silence, Soda smoking, me watching the road. My best friend finally sighed and tossed the butt out the window.  
  
"So, Pony at least slept through the night," he mumbled.  
  
I glanced at him. "What about you?"  
  
"What's it matter?"  
  
"You've gotta take care of yourself too, Soda, or you ain't gonna be any help to him."  
  
"Thanks, Darry," he snapped sarcastically, nothing like his usual self.  
  
"Listen, buddy," I retorted, "Pony may be sick, but you ain't and there's no point in getting yourself there."  
  
Soda sighed and leaned against the window. "I'm sorry," he mumbled after a few minutes. "I'm just kinda messed up right now."  
  
I nodded. We didn't need anything more than that. Usually we didn't even need I'm sorry. We knew each other well enough to just know.  
  
"I heard you got in a fight with some Socs," Soda finally said. I laughed, even though it wasn't that funny. Some of the kids had cheered when my homeroom teacher had announced that Ponyboy was sick and the Curtis family would be accepting donations. I'd tried to ignore it, although I'd begun to feel a growing protection for my best friend's kid brother, and this antagonized me no end. But when one of them came up to me later and told me that the little grease bastard was going straight to hell, I'd responded with a vicious punch to his face. They'd left us alone after that.  
  
"One won't be able to see out of his left eye for a week," I told Soda.  
  
He sighed. "I thought we were past all that."  
  
"We were. Until he mouthed off about Pony bein' sick."  
  
"Oh," Soda said, realization dawning. Then he smiled: a genuine grin. "He'll appreciate you stickin' up for him."  
  
"Well," I said as the hospital came into sight and I snapped my turning signal on, "I kinda have to right now." Soda fell silent again as I pulled up to the entrance to let him out. "Want me to come over after work?" I offered.  
  
"Sure," he smiled again. "Just promise me something."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Don't cook dinner." 


	15. Treatment

(Pony)  
  
"This'll hurt at first," the doctor said bluntly, shoving the IV into my arm. Darry began stroking my hair as the chemicals trickled slowly into my bloodstream. I closed my eyes, feeling nothing except for the bit of IV at first. Until the liquid hit my blood stream. My arm was on fire....  
  
"You all right?" Darry murmured. I clenched my teeth and nodded. The doctor bustled toward the door.  
  
"Any last questions?" he asked, already halfway gone. Darry glanced at me, and I shook my head. "I'll be back in a few moments." With that, he left us alone.  
  
"Did you get all he said?" Darry asked me. I hadn't: I'd been to nervous to pay very close attention. I would lose my hair, he said, and I would experience extreme nausea and vomiting. And there was no guarantee. That was the phrase everyone kept repeating, the phrase that scared me the most. There's just no guarantee.  
  
"When's Soda gonna get here?" That was the closest I could come to telling Darry that I was scared. But he understood.  
  
"Soon, I think. He probably can't find the room."  
  
I jumped as more of the chemicals hit my arm: they burned, badly, slipping into my bloodstream, liquid fire that spread through my entire trembling body, biting at my veins like tiny snakes. I shut my eyes and set my jaw and silently willed Soda to hurry up.  
  
Darry began pacing the tiny room, and without looking at him I knew his hands would be in his pockets and his eyes distant. I knew that he hated this more than anything: hated me lying there, scared and in pain with nothing he could do about it.  
  
"Hey," Soda murmured, poking his head in the door. I opened my eyes and smiled at him.  
  
"Took you long enough."  
  
Soda grinned. "This room's small and the hospital's big." He crossed the room, eyes on the IV in my arm. "Is that the miracle juice?"  
  
"Hope so," I sighed. Soda rubbed my hair. Darry was staring at the wall.  
  
"I gotta go to work," he suddenly mumbled. "I already wrote the doc a check. We're broke, but that this is paid for, at least. Two-Bit'll be by at six. Go straight to bed when you're home."  
  
Soda stared at our older brother in shock. "You're actually leaving?"  
  
"I have to. We need money."  
  
"But...."  
  
"It's okay," I spoke up, because I could see the pain in my brother's face. I remembered the night I'd seen him in the hospital, the night of the fire when Johnny had broken his back, how'd he stood away from me, afraid to approach me, fearing that although I was alive he'd really lost me, just as he'd lost Mom and Dad and then Johnny and Dally. For the first time I was sort of glad the whole nightmare had happened, because I finally understood Darry. Months ago I would have thought this was him not caring about me; now, I realized that he cared so much he couldn't stand to sit back and watch me like this. "You can go," I repeated.  
  
Darry crossed the room and ruffled my hair, not once looking at the IV. "Take care, little buddy," he murmured, his voice husky. Then he turned and fled the room.  
  
Soda sighed, but I saw that he too, understood. He understood everyone.  
  
"Hurt much?"  
  
"A little," I lied. "How was work?"  
  
"Slow."  
  
"Is Steve coming over later?"  
  
"Yeah. I made him promise not to cook dinner."  
  
I chuckled, remembering the flour-coated kitchen. I'd thought Darry would have an aneurysm.  
  
"Tuff," I mumbled as a stab of pain hit my arm. I jumped, startling my brother.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
I didn't pretend. I closed my eyes tight and set my jaw again. I'm not going to die, I'm not going to die, this pain will go away, it will go away and I'll be better...  
  
Soda touched my other arm, rubbing lightly. "I'm here," he murmured. "It's gonna be okay."  
  
"Talk," I pleaded, "it doesn't matter what you say."  
  
So Soda perched on the edge of the bed and spoke in a low, soothing voice until the doctor came in to end my first session. 


	16. Normal

(Two-Bit)  
  
"How' the kid?" I asked as Soda approached, Pony's arm around his neck. The youngest Curtis looked half-asleep and very, very pale.  
  
Soda shrugged and eased his younger brother into the backseat. Pony laid down in the back and put his head down and mumbled a thanks. Soda slammed his door and clambered into the front.  
  
"Doc says this is normal," he mumbled, eyeing his brother anxiously. "He says that stuff'll knock you out."  
  
"He's not puking yet, is he?" I asked, thinking of my car seats. I'd never get the smell out either.  
  
Soda slugged my arm playfully. "Glory, Two-Bit! You've gotta be the most insensitive jerk I've ever known."  
  
"Dang it, this thing's my date mobile," I grinned, pulling out of the parking lot. "Darry go to work?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"He okay?"  
  
"Tense."  
  
"That's nothing new."  
  
"Well, more so than usual."  
  
"Understandable."  
  
"Keep it down," Pony mumbled. Soda grinned at him, but his brother's eyes were tightly shut.  
  
"You wouldn't let me shutup at the hospital."  
  
"Hmm," he sighed, then started coughing. I glanced at him in the rearview mirror as Soda grabbed a tissue and handed it to him, but not before several drops of blood made it onto my seat. Pony wiped at them feebly, but he seemed awfully weak. "Sorry, Two-Bit."  
  
"Don't worry about it, kid, makes this car look tuff," I grinned at him. "I'll say I drove some wounded Soc to a hospital. Make me look gallant."  
  
Pony managed a feeble grin and lay down again. Soda watched him for a moment before turning back to stare at the road.  
  
"Steve told me about the Socs," he nearly whispered to me. I stared straight ahead.  
  
"Cherry's gonna help. So's Randy. And they're gonna try to get the rest of the elite madras morons to chip in."  
  
Soda nodded slowly. "We need it."  
  
That was scary; that they were broke already. But I'd been thinking. "Don't die of shock," I started, "but I've been thinkin' of getting a job...you know, to help y'all out."  
  
Soda laughed. "Two-Bit Matthews workin'? Half the town'd die of shock." But I could tell he appreciated it. "The thing is though...we need someone to stay with him durin' the day, while we're at work."  
  
"Shoot, I could just drop out."  
  
"Don't," Soda snapped, eyeing his younger brother. But Pony was fast asleep. "I mean, you oughta graduate. If Pony thought you were droppin' out because of him he'd go nuts. He nearly did when I left."  
  
That was true. Pony'd barely spoken for days when Soda first left school, not even to his older brother. Soda'd told me they'd talked about it a lot since then. Ponyboy felt his brother was too smart to be a dropout, although he hadn't done well in school.  
  
"Well, I am gonna get a job, and give y'all the money," I said, speeding up to beat a red light.  
  
"That's fine," Soda grinned as we turned onto their street. Steve's car was already out front. "Ya wanna come in? Steve's not cooking again."  
  
"Nah, I think I'm gonna hunt up a girl. Maybe a job. Maybe both."  
  
"Well, come on over later if you ain't busy."  
  
"I'll try," I pulled the car over in front of their house, and Soda climbed out and went to open his brothers' door.  
  
"C'mon, kiddo, you gotta get inside. I ain't Dar, I can't carry you in."  
  
"Hmm," he mumbled as Soda eased him up off the seat and helped him onto the pavement.  
  
"Take care, kid," I called as Soda put his hands on his shoulders and steered him toward the porch.  
  
It's normal, I told myself as Steve opened the front door and held it open as Soda supported his brother up the stairs and into the house. But I knew it wasn't true; nothing had been normal since Johnny and Dally had died, and nothing would be normal again until Pony was better. 


	17. Charity

(Soda)  
  
"Go on back to sleep," I murmured as Pony sank across our bed. I moved the trashcan over near him, in case he woke up sick.  
  
"He all right?" Steve asked from the doorway, staring at my pale and exhausted younger brother. I just nodded, pulled Ponyboy's shoes off and the covers up and then quietly shut the door.  
  
"Doc says it's normal," I told my best friend, moving toward the kitchen to start dinner. Steve followed, looking slightly uneasy.  
  
"Anything I can do?"  
  
I shrugged and pulled out a chicken. "Peel potatoes."  
  
Steve made a disgusted face; I laughed at the same time the doorbell rang.  
  
"I'll get that. You peel."  
  
"Why can't you just bake 'em?"  
  
"Because mashed will be easier on Pony's stomach," I called, reaching for the door. It was odd that someone would be ringing the bell; most people who knew us just walked in. Unless...  
  
Oh, please don't be the state, I thought wildly, my heart pounding as I hesitated, my hand on the doorknob. We can't have them around here now, not when we're already in financial trouble and Ponyboy's passed out back there. I took a deep breath as I slowly opened the door.  
  
It was not a stuffy-looking social worker standing on our porch; but someone equally as shocking.  
  
"Hi," she said simply, "I'm Sherry Valence. Ponyboy's friend."  
  
"Oh," I half-stuttered. "Sorry. I'm Sodapop Curtis."  
  
She smiled. "Pony's told me about you."  
  
"Hopefully good things."  
  
"Always." I smiled at that, knowing it was probably true. "Anyway, I...I saw the flyers at school and talked to Two-Bit...he said y'all needed some help. My parents have money and all, and some of my friends..." she seemed awful nervous. I wondered if she was afraid of us. I wasn't sure whether to invite her in or not. I didn't want to leave a girl standing on the porch like that, especially a beautiful socy one like her, but asking her into our house felt wrong too.  
  
"...What I'm trying to say is, here," Sherry held out an envelope, unsealed in the back. I took it from her outstretched hand and pulled out a check.  
  
"I..."  
  
"Please don't see it as charity," she rushed on, seeing my hesitation, "it's not that. It's just that Pony's our friend too, and we all want to help, and this is really the only way we know how."  
  
I couldn't believe the amount. It would disappear fast; in fact, it would probably pay off only his first hospital stay, but anything helped at that point.  
  
"Thank you," I finally managed.  
  
"I'm going to try to get more," Sherry said slowly. "I'm going to do whatever I can. But...do you mind telling me...how bad is it?"  
  
"He'll be fine," the words burst from my lips automatically. He'll be fine. Of course he'll be fine. Things can't turn out any other way, because we'd all go crazy. I'd go crazy. I'd go after him. I'd follow him anywhere. I'd follow him to the grave...  
  
What the hell am I thinking? I thought, startled by my own thoughts. Dread suddenly settled in my chest. That had seemed so natural, so right, so easy to think: if my kid brother died, I'd go after him.  
  
"Will he be really?" Sherry's hopeful voice snapped me back to the present. I stared at her: she had beautiful green eyes. Kinda the same as Pony's, but less intense. His were more gray.  
  
"We're hoping," I said simply, watching the brightness fade slightly from her face. "He's getting help."  
  
"Soda! The food's burnin', I'm gonna take it out!"  
  
"Uh oh," I turned toward the kitchen. "I'd better go before he tries to cook something."  
  
Sherry nodded. "It was nice meeting you," she murmured. "If you need anything...please, let me know."  
  
"I will," I assured her. And I meant it: we didn't care about charity at this point. Pride wasn't important anymore. Not when Pony's life was involved.  
  
She smiled at me before walking toward her red mustang parked in front of our house; suddenly, violently, I missed Sandy. I wanted to hold her, I wanted her to hold me, to tell me everything would be all right. I never had to tell her what I was thinking: she knew. She'd know that my heart was being eaten alive, just as my younger brother's lungs were.  
  
"Soda, I'm putting the potatoes on!"  
  
I sighed and wiped my damp eyes. She was gone. But I still had people in my life to take care of, people who I cared about and who cared about me. And they were more important right now.  
  
"Soda, there's smoke coming from the burner!"  
  
I laughed. "Glory Stevie," I called, moving toward the kitchen. "Don't burn the house down, 'kay?" 


	18. Cry

(Darry)  
  
Guilt wracked me as I started the truck and headed home from work. Part of me knew I shouldn't have left the hospital, but I couldn't bear to stay there and watch my little brother in pain, not when there was nothing I could do to make it any easier. I was glad, for once, to be working several jobs, to get my mind off of Pony. It was these drives I hated, where there was nothing, not even the radio, to block out the sound of my thoughts.  
  
Pony sick, Pony coughing blood, Pony pale on the hospital bed. He'll lose his hair, he'll vomit all the time, he won't sleep he won't eat...  
  
And there's no guarantee.  
  
I nearly went through a red light and had to slam on the breaks to the chorus of horns from the intersection. Get a grip, I told myself, you've got to, your brothers need you, they need you as much as they did when Mom and Dad died...I remember the hospital...  
  
"Darry," Soda'd nearly whispered, "they're not telling us anything, they're not lettings us see them...but they said the car...the car's been wrecked...it's real bad, Dar."  
  
Pony'd just sat in a corner, chewing on his fingernails and tapping his fingers that wanted a cigarette to hold. I'd grabbed a doctor and demanded information. I'd been the first to know, already the responsible one, already taking over the role of the people we'd lost.  
  
"Guys..."  
  
I remember their eyes, their wide, young eyes, their terrified, confused eyes. And I knew then that I'd take care of them, that I'd work however much we needed, that I'd keep us together.  
  
"Dad was dead on arrival..."  
  
Pony'd whimpered  
  
"And Mom never made it out of the car. She died on impact..."  
  
Soda'd echoed Pony's whimper  
  
"They didn't suffer."  
  
We'd stared at each other.  
  
"We're orphans," Soda'd whispered, his eyes wide in stunned realization.  
  
Pony had hid his face and burst into harsh, bitter tears. "This can't be happening..." he'd wept, each of his sobs tearing at my own chest.  
  
Soda'd tried to hold him, but he was beginning to break up too, and eventually gave up, hugging him but crying just as hard. Words do nothing for grief. And what we felt was immense.  
  
And I'd just sat there, watching in silence, calculating how much I made versus how much we'd need for monthly expenses, for the funeral; how much my parents had left us; if the state would LET me keep my brothers...  
  
"What's going to happen to us," my youngest brother'd sobbed, his face tear stained and half hidden in Sodapop's shirt. "I don't want to go away, I want to at least have each other, we can't be split up..."  
  
"You'll live with me," I'd murmured. "I'll take care of you."  
  
I'll take care of you, I remembered, wiping at my eyes as our house came into view. Damn these long, lonely drives alone. They weren't doing me any good. I had to keep it together. My brothers needed me, even more than they had that night in the Emergency Room.  
  
It's just that I didn't know how to handle being the one who wanted to cry. 


	19. Envy

(Steve)  
  
"We made dinner," Soda announced to a tired looking Darry.  
  
"And it's edible," I chimed in.  
  
The oldest Curtis gave us a wry smile, but he looked awfully tired. "How's Pony?"  
  
Soda nodded toward their bedroom. "Out cold. He fell asleep before we even made it home."  
  
"That's probably good," he muttered, scooping up what remained of the chicken and potatoes we'd made. "How'd y'all get so many dishes?" he eyed the piled sink.  
  
"Hey, cooking's harder than it looks," I laughed.  
  
"Steve couldn't peel potatoes," Soda smacked my arm.  
  
Darry rolled his eyes and grinned at both of us. Things felt almost normal, and that was good; I worried that everyone and everything would change abruptly with Pony sick, adding to the sense of loss we already felt with the deaths of Dallas and Johnny. I missed them; especially when we all hung out. Our group felt incomplete without them. I kept expecting Johnny to slink in from down the street, kept expecting the door to slam shut as Dally moseyed in. There were only five of us now, and Pony sorta stuck out, him being so much younger than the rest of us, with no Johnny to bridge the age gap.  
  
Soda never even saw an age gap, I thought with a touch of bitterness, although I knew I shouldn't feel any resentment toward my best friend's kid brother right now. But he always had bothered me a little, and I couldn't just turn off the mild spite I felt. Not so much spite: envy. Envy because he had Soda's support unconditionally. When he had his nightmares, Soda got up. When he ran away, Soda looked for him. When he was sick, Soda stayed with him. If Pony had killed been the one to kill Bob, even if he hadn't had a motive, Soda would have poured all his money into a lawyer and stood right behind him in the courtroom. What had Pony ever done to deserve someone like that?  
  
What had I done not to? There was no one like Soda waiting at home for me.  
  
And there was more too: I could never be like Soda. If my kid brother was having nightmares I'd yell for him to keep his door shut, not go and calm him down. But my best friend would, as he had in the past, and when the chemo treatments really kicked in and Pony began falling apart at the seams I knew Soda would be there to stitch him back together.  
  
"Wanna play cards?" Soda asked me.  
  
"Sure," I said easily.  
  
"Don't turn the radio on," Darry warned us. "Let Pony sleep."  
  
There we went again. Sure, I thought, let him sleep forever.  
  
The second I realized what my thought implied I wanted to punch myself: I am, without a doubt, one of the most horrible people I know. How could I THINK that about a kid, any kid, yet alone someone I cared about. Because I did care about him, if only because he was such an important part of my best friend's life, and to lose him meant losing Soda.  
  
"I'll deal," Soda flashed me a sly grin, undoubtedly cooking up ways to cheat.  
  
But I was lost in thought as realization really hit: losing Pony meant losing Soda, and losing them both meant losing Darry. Leaving me and Two- Bit.  
  
I oughta make some new friends, I thought, trying to console myself, because I suddenly realized that Pony was dragging us all down with him.  
  
He always was a brat, I thought, hating myself more than ever. And I've always been an asshole. 


	20. Sick

(Pony)  
  
I'm gonna be sick, I'm gonna be sick, sicksicksicksick  
  
I couldn't move, I felt so nauseous. I turned my head and felt bile rush to my throat. I coughed it down, tasting blood. I tried to say Soda's name and only moaned. It was pitch dark; I couldn't see the clock, so I didn't know what time it was. But it had to be past eleven, because Soda was fast asleep with his arm across me.  
  
I had to try to do something before I vomited in bed, so I leaned over the edge, spotted the trashcan, grabbed it and pulled it to me just in time. I coughed, vomited again. Soda leapt up beside me and flicked the light on. I struggled to catch my breath before more bile rushed to my throat.  
  
"Easy, buddy, easy," my brother murmured, crawling over to my side of the bed. He stayed by me, rubbing my back and shoulders, brushing the hair back from my eyes.  
  
I'd never been so sick in my life. Darry heard us after awhile and came in to bring me a bowl and take the trashcan away. Soda did his best to steady me, but I couldn't control vomit after vomit. Darry brought in a washcloth and a glass of water and made me take tiny sips whenever I had a few minutes of peace, but they were few and far between, and as soon as the water hit my stomach I'd start right back up again.  
  
By the time it was over we were all exhausted.  
  
"Don't y'all have to go to work tomorrow?" I mumbled as Darry wiped sweat off my face off with the washcloth and Soda went to clean out the bowl.  
  
"Yeah. Will you be all right by yourself?"  
  
"'Guess so."  
  
"I don't like leaving you..."  
  
"It's okay," I murmured, closing my eyes. "You need to go." I couldn't say much else. Darry urged me to drink more water, but I was afraid I wouldn't even be able to hold that down.  
  
"About the hospital...you ain't mad, are you?" my older brother asked me. I opened my eyes, because it was rare for Darry to show his feelings, yet alone for us to discuss them.  
  
"It's okay," I urged him. My voice was awful weak. "You're doing a good job."  
  
"At what?"  
  
I had to close my eyes again. "Helping me," I sighed. Darry didn't answer, just sponged my face off with the washcloth a few more times, until Soda came back in.  
  
"You all right now, Ponyboy?" Sodapop asked, flopping down beside me. I just nodded and tried to grin.  
  
"You still wanna share a bed with me?"  
  
Soda smiled. "Not if you hurl on me. But you ain't done that yet, so I guess it's okay. For now," he warned, but I knew he was joking.  
  
"I'm gonna head back to bed," Darry said, gathering the glass and the washcloth. I thanked him weakly, then pulled the covers up to my shoulder. Soda tossed an arm around me and yawned.  
  
"Holler if you're gonna be sick again," he murmured.  
  
Will I be? Night after night now, treatment after treatment? This was only my first one. The weeks ahead were filled with these. I shivered, feeling queasy again.  
  
"You cold?" my brother mumbled.  
  
"Kinda."  
  
Soda moved closer to me, and I closed my eyes. I'm safe for now, I thought. Concentrate on now. Concentrate on getting through tonight. Don't think about the weeks ahead, or even tomorrow. Don't...  
  
I started coughing, swallowing down the liquid that shot to my throat, my blood, which made me feel sick all over again.  
  
"Damn it," I moaned, suddenly more miserable than ever. Soda sighed beside me, and I felt awfully guilty, knowing he had to work and all.  
  
"You okay?" my brother asked me.  
  
"I guess so. Soda?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"You don't have to stay in here, if you don't want."  
  
"Do you want me to go?"  
  
"No. But I'm keepin' you up. And if I'm gonna be like this for awhile..."  
  
"Don't worry about it, kiddo. If I get too tired than Darry and I will trade off staying with you. Okay? But we ain't gonna leave you alone."  
  
I sighed, already falling asleep, but relieved. I can do this, I thought, as long as I'm not alone. I will do this. My brothers won't let me go.  
  
"Thanks," I murmured, but the word didn't seem enough. 


	21. Upset

(TwoBit)  
  
"Morning!" I called, slamming the door behind me. Steve was sprawled on the couch with the TV on, but he was staring into the kitchen. The stove was on and eggs were cooking, but Darry and Soda's voices were coming toward the back of the house. I raised an eyebrow to Steve. "Pony sick again?"  
  
Steve sighed. "Of course. He hasn't stopped hurling for the full three weeks they've been sticking him full of that crap." He took a swig of his Pepsi. "I swear, I don't know how that shit's supposed to be helping him."  
  
I had to agree. Pony had been getting chemo for three weeks now, and the only result had been him vomiting and sleeping. Darry and Soda had started trading off sleeping with him, because he woke up at least once-often twice- a night either sick or coughing. Was it doing him any good? we'd asked. "It's too soon to tell," the doctor had said.  
  
Too soon to tell. Meanwhile the kid's puking every two seconds and Darry and Soda are chronically sleep deprived, completely broke, and struggling to hide Pony's disease from the state. Those dogs were already sniffing around; now was not the time for them to be separated.  
  
"Hey," Darry greeted me tiredly, rushing to the stove to turn the eggs off. "Soda, your breakfast's ready!" he shouted back toward his bedroom.  
  
"Coming!" Soda hollered back. I began digging through the freezer for chocolate cake.  
  
"Pony all right?" Steve asked slowly. Darry didn't turn around as he dumped the eggs onto plates.  
  
"He's a little upset," he muttered. I almost laughed, it was such an understatement.  
  
Soda emerged, a hand on a pink-eyed Ponyboy's shoulder. After three week of treatment the boy was already radically changed; his eyes were sunken, his skin pale, his body startlingly thin.  
  
"Hey y'all," the youngest Curtis gave us a tired grin and settled at the table, scooting away from the food and toward the bathroom door. I realized I was staring and turned back to yank out the cake I'd found buried under a giant sized bag of tater tots. Darry reached under my arm and pulled out a large can of chicken broth, dumped some in a bowl and began heating it up without a word. Pony stared at the floor. I couldn't take my eyes off him; he was wearing Soda's old bathrobe, but it swallowed him. He'd wrapped the tie around his waist twice.  
  
There was an uncomfortable silence as we ate. All eyes were on Pony, who just stared at the floor. I couldn't imagine what he was thinking about.  
  
"I got a job," I finally announced. That got everyone's attention.  
  
"YOU?" Steve laughed.  
  
"Glory Two-Bit, givin' us all heart attacks," Soda smiled. I just grinned; I'd been hired down at a local drugstore. My Mom had laughed when I told her, but when I mentioned Pony and the financial help the Curtis' needed she'd sobered, smiled, and told me she was proud of me: not a phrase I heard too often.  
  
Pony bit his lip, and I remembered Soda's advice: don't let him feel guilty.  
  
"I'd been thinkin' 'bout getting one for awhile, for extra cash and all. Boozin' costs more than it used to."  
  
"Glory, Two-Bit, they're other hobbies," Steve said, grinning. Pony seemed satisfied and went back to staring at the floor. Darry set the heated broth bowl in front of him. "You oughta try some, Pon," he said softly.  
  
"I won't hold it down," Pony mumbled. His voice shook slightly. I glanced at Soda; he was frozen, watching his stony younger brother. "Just the smell's makin' me sick." "I know, but you oughta just try a little," Darry insisted.  
  
Pony sighed. With a trembling hand, he scooped up a tiny bit and swallowed it down, looking disgusted the whole time. We watched him in fascination, returning to the uncomfortable silence that had descended on us before.  
  
I miss Johnny, I thought suddenly, I miss Dally. They'd keep the conversation going. They'd try to keep things normal. I wished things were normal. I wanted things to be normal...  
  
Pony leapt up from the table and rushed into the bathroom, slamming the door as he went. We heard the sound of retching. Soda started to get up, but Darry laid a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"I've got him," he said, slipping into the bathroom without letting us get a view of his brother. "Take it easy," we heard him murmur as Pony threw up again.  
  
"He hasn't eaten in two days," Soda said, stabbing at his eggs. "He can't hold anything down."  
  
"Then how come you're the one that looks thin?" Steve asked, smacking Soda on the back affectionately. Soda sighed.  
  
"He aint' sleepin' either. I had him last night. We got about three hours sleep. He keeps coughing, then throwing up, then dozing and havin' nightmares, coughin' again.." Soda trailed off. He looked miserable, as miserable as he had the week Pony and Johnny were in Windrixville. He looked like he'd lost a piece of himself. 


	22. Doubts

(Soda)  
  
"I can't leave him alone like this," Darry said as we started out the door. We all turned around, startled. Darry was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Ponyboy was coughing in the bathroom. The four of us looked at each other.  
  
"I could cut today," Two-Bit volunteered.  
  
"No," Darry said slowly.  
  
"You can't stay, Dar," I piped up, "we need the money."  
  
"I'll be all right," Pony's hoarse voice came from behind us. Darry turned around, and my very thin and exhausted younger brother appeared in the doorway. "Y'all can go."  
  
"Pony..." Darry started.  
  
"It's okay, Dar," my brother insisted. "I know you're worried, but I'm okay. I'm gonna try and sleep..." he turned from us and coughed into the sleeve of his bathrobe. Darry and I exchanged a glance.  
  
"Ponyboy," I started, but Pony waved us off.  
  
"Guys, I'm okay. Get out. Go. I'll make y'all late. Please?" He turned back around, his eyes still pink. He'd been crying this morning after another night with no sleep. He'd had another treatment, and he had two days 'till the next. But we were all frustrated, because he was sick almost constantly, and passed out when he wasn't. He hadn't eaten, and he rarely left our room, except to take a shower occasionally. Darry and I had started rotating who slept with him, which really meant rotating whose turn it was to sleep. I'd started drinking coffee, although I hated the taste, because the jolt of caffeine kept me going.  
  
Darry sighed. "You could pass out or somethin', Pon, and no one would know until five."  
  
"So call. You've been doing that anyway."  
  
"And if you can't get to the phone?"  
  
"I'll get it, Dar," Pony sighed and slumped back down at the table. "Quit worryin' so much. I'll do the dishes and lie down. It'll be fine."  
  
"I'll call too, Darry," I chimed in, trying to convince my older brother to leave. Steve was staring at his watch, and Two-Bit was playing with his lighter, trying to light a cigarette. He wouldn't smoke in the house though; Pony'd had to quit, and it hadn't been easy. He'd been a full blown nicotine addict, and he still moaned that he wanted a smoke, although a cigarette with his lungs would most likely bring on a coughing fit that would kill him on the spot.  
  
"All right," Darry said slowly, rubbing Pony's hair. My younger brother managed a small grin, trying to reassure us all. "But if you get real sick, you call. You know the company number. They'll get in touch with me."  
  
"Or call the station," I said.  
  
"Which you're gonna be fired from if we don't hussle," Steve snapped. "Damn it, he ain't gonna die the second you walk out the door. And we're all late." He turned and stormed out the front door, slamming it as he went.  
  
I couldn't believe what I was hearing; Steve had occasionally been obnoxious, but he was rarely downright cruel. Pony stared down at the floor. "I'm sorry," he whispered.  
  
"Don't worry about it, kid," I snapped, turning and rushing after Steve. Two-bit grabbed my arm.  
  
"Let him go, Soda," he warned. "He's not really mad at Pony, he's just...you know."  
  
I hesitated. I did understand, at least somewhat. Steve had never really liked Pony that much, and he hated what it was doing to all of us.  
  
"Let's just go," Darry said from behind us, shutting the front door as he went. The three of us walked to the car. Steve had taken off; his car was gone.  
  
"I get my first paycheck in a few days," Two-bit told us, smoking freely now. "I'll drop it off."  
  
I nodded, missing my old confidence. Little nagging doubts often haunt you later, and I was beginning to doubt that my brother would survive this mess.  
  
Of course he will, I told myself as Darry backed out of the driveway. He's the best part of me.  
  
************  
  
Okay, sorry this is dragging a little, I'm having a little bit of plot probs and I'm trying to move as fast as I can. Truth is I've been heavily involved in writing the end (yes, in advance) and it's cutting into my regular post time. Stick w/ me and thanks to all reviewers, please keep them coming, they're the ultimate motivation! 


	23. Stay

(Darry)  
  
"Have you left here at all?" I cried. Ponyboy was slumped on the bathroom floor, a towel under his head. The dishes were still in the sink, although he'd answered the phone the few times we'd called.  
  
Pony just shook his head. "Just seemed easier...I keep getting sick.." he proven his point by leaning over and dry-heaving.  
  
"Christ, kid," I dropped my tool belt down on the table, grabbed the last clean glass on the shelf and filled it, sitting beside him on the bathroom floor. "You should've told me when I called."  
  
My youngest brother shook his head. "Doesn't matter," he mumbled. "I'd be sick whether you were here or not."  
  
"Yeah, but you don't have to be alone."  
  
"I know," he murmured. I rubbed his shoulders, and he slumped back against the wall. "Darry?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"I'm sorry. About all this. And making you late this morning."  
  
"All this? This wasn't your fault."  
  
"Yeah, but...you guys haven't slept these past three weeks."  
  
"Neither have you."  
  
"But I don't have to go to work. Or school." His voice faltered for a second. "I'm not gonna finish this year, huh?"  
  
"It's almost summer anyway. When this is all done, you can make-up what you missed."  
  
Pony fell silent, staring at his hands awkwardly. "Sure," he finally murmured, looking miserable. I pushed his hair back.  
  
"This is gonna be over one day, Pon."  
  
My brother's eyes filled; he nodded, slowly. "I just feel so guilty...I mean...you heard Steve this morning. He's right. I'm the one who's sick, I'm the one who can't sleep, it's not fair that I keep you and Soda up."  
  
"We ain't gonna let you go through this alone," I snapped. "Steve's just upset because Soda's not payin' much attention to him. Because you're more important." Pony looked at me, his eyes dark and tired.  
  
Haunted. I didn't know what to say. "You've gotta quit seein' yourself as a burden. We don't see you as one."  
  
My brother raised a trembling hand to his eyes and wiped them hurriedly. I kept my distance; I didn't quite know how to handle my brother. We were still figuring each other out, had been since Soda ran out of the house that night. Soda always knew exactly what to say, exactly how to calm or comfort our younger brother. I just didn't.  
  
"Thanks," he mumbled, trying to grin.  
  
"You want somethin' to eat?"  
  
"No," he paled and swallowed hard. "I'm too tired. I don't wanna throw up anymore."  
  
"It's been two days..."  
  
"Darry, please," Pony begged, closing his eyes. I couldn't believe how weak he'd gotten.  
  
"I'm not gonna push," I murmured, rising and opening the bathroom windows. The room reeked of vomit. "I'm gonna start dinner, okay? Soda'll be home soon. Two-Bit's workin' tonight, but he might stop by later. I don't know what happened with Steve."  
  
"Hm," my brother sighed, resting his head on the towel like a pillow.  
  
I left the door open so I could see him as I started dinner. We'd been eating a lot more frozen things than we had before; they took less time to prepare.  
  
I'd no sooner turned the oven on and stuck a pan of lasagna in then Pony called for me and burst into a violent fit of coughing.  
  
I can't stand this, I thought, kneeling beside him in the bathroom. I can't stand seeing him like this. It's only been three weeks, and already this is a completely different Ponyboy.  
  
"I hate this," Pony sobbed when the fit had passed. "I can't do this, Darry."  
  
I didn't know what to say, so I stayed silent, slumped back against the wall and pulled him against me. He leaned on my chest, exhausted, fighting back his tears.  
  
"It's okay to cry," I finally said. Pony just sighed and closed his eyes. I stroked my his sweaty forehead and hair, reaching for the glass and the rag to sponge his face off. Pony swallowed a sip of water weakly, then closed his eyes as I ran the washcloth over his face.  
  
"That feels good, Dar," he mumbled, already half-asleep. I picked him up and carried him back to his room, laying him down on his side of the bed.  
  
"Soda'll be home soon," I murmured, still rubbing the cloth over his forehead. I knew he wanted him. "You stay," he whispered, his head sinking into the pillow. "Stay for a while?"  
  
"Sure, little buddy," I stroked his hair. "I ain't leaving." 


	24. Distance

Note: Sha! I have read a Time for Dancing, long long ago. It's an awesome book, but that's not where I got the idea for this story. Thanks for the wonderful review: that goes to all readers! Honestly, you guys have been so great. I can't believe I hit a hundred reviews! I can't believe you've all stayed with me. I'm trying to move this along, but I don't want to rush. I try to post a chapter a day, but when school picks up it gets tough. Stay with me!  
  
On with the show...  
  
(Steve)  
  
"What was that about?" Soda demanded as I turned the register inside the gas station on.  
  
"What was what about?" I snapped, knowing what he meant.  
  
"Why would you say something like that in front of Pony?"  
  
"Because."  
  
"Because?"  
  
"Look, I don't know, I'm sorry, all right?" I mumbled, stalking away. Soda stared at me for a minute, then sighed and looked away.  
  
"This isn't easy for me either," he finally muttered, walking toward the garage part of the gas station. I watched him, taking in the bags under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. I'd already known it was true; I'd been cursing at myself since my outburst at the house.  
  
It's unfair, I thought. It's unfair that Pony has to be sick. He hasn't done anything to deserve it. The Curtis' have been through too much for this.  
  
I was hating too much: hating the unfairness of it, hating the pain Pony was in, the exhaustion that had descended on their house. I hated how miserable all three of them were, completely changed from the happy friends I was used to. All that built inside me, grew and grew until I lashed out at the easiest target: my best friend's kid brother.  
  
"Soda," I suddenly pleaded, stunned by the sincerity of my own voice, "it ain't that I don't like Pony, it's just that..that this is hard on all of us, Soda, not just you."  
  
My best friend turned around and stared at me in shock, surprised by my tone. Why shouldn't he be? I never talked like this.  
  
What's going on with me? I didn't even know anymore.  
  
"I just wish he'd get better...I wish this wasn't happening..." I cut myself off, slamming around the shop as I pulled tools from the shelf and headed after him to the garage. Soda laid a hand on my shoulder, and I knew we were made up.  
  
But it's not the same, I thought miserably, sensing a distance between my best friend and I. And hating all the more because of it. 


	25. Hair

NOTE: Yes, Pip, there is a purpose to the Steve chapter! ***  
  
(Pony)  
  
What time is it? I thought, rolling over to find the clock. My arm still hurt where the doctor had stuck the IV in. Darry must have carried me from the car to the house; I didn't remember much after the first ten minutes of treatment.  
  
At least I'm not throwing up yet, I thought, sitting up slowly. My head itched, and I reached up to scratch my scalp.  
  
A huge chunk of hair came off in my hand.  
  
I whirled around and stared at my pillow; pieces of hair, still tinged with bleach from Johnny's poor hairstyling job stood out starkly against the white background.  
  
"Soda!" I shrieked, not even knowing if he was home yet. Darry had had to take me to and from the hospital so Soda could work a double shift. I reached up and felt at my scalp, pulling another chunk of hair loose in the process.  
  
"What's wrong?" Darry demanded, rushing into the room. He caught sight of the pillow and the clumps in my hands and understood, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Oh, Pony.."  
  
I was shaking and trying hard not to cry. The cancer wouldn't even leave me my hair. It was taking everything: my energy, my appetite, my whole life. A greaser might not have much to be proud of, but he has his hair. And now I didn't even have mine.  
  
I flung myself down on the pillow and fought my tears. "I want Soda," I whimpered, "I don't want to see anyone else, I'm gonna be bald like a damned old man for Christ's sake.."  
  
Darry perched on the edge of the bed awkwardly. "I'm sorry, kid. But they did say that this would happen."  
  
"It's been a month, though!" I wailed. "I thought maybe it wouldn't happen to me.." My oldest brother touched my head, knocking more hair out in the process.  
  
"Just get out!" I wailed, knowing that I was being cruel and unreasonable. Darry had been beside me through all of this, as supportive as Soda: but he just wasn't him, no matter how hard he tried to be.  
  
"I'm sorry," he repeated miserably, rising and leaving me alone. As soon as he was gone I started tearing at my scalp, ripping chunks of hair loose. I wasn't going to walk around with half my hair in and half it out. If I had to go bald, I'd go completely. I was bawling by then, which set me coughing, hard, and eventually set my stomach going.  
  
I wish I'd died that day in gym, I thought as I ran past Darry in the kitchen to throw up in the bathroom. I wish I hadn't lived to go through this. I wish that had been it.  
  
I leaned against the edge of the toilet, watching as my hair fell in soft tufts to the floor around me. I cried until the front door slammed and Darry greeted Soda in a low voice. I knew they were talking about me, but I wasn't at all interested in what they were saying. Why me? I thought weakly. Why me, why me, why me?  
  
"Ponyboy?" Soda called, knocking lightly on the bathroom door. "Can I come in?"  
  
"No," I sobbed, suddenly frightened. I gripped the edge of the sink and hauled myself up so I could see myself in the mirror.  
  
A ghost stared back: my eyes were sunken, dark, red. Bright white patches of my scalp showed up in my dark reddish hair where my natural roots had finally started growing in. My face was thin and so pale I reached up to touch it, to make sure the skin was mine.  
  
"Come on, Pon," Soda coaxed gently. "It doesn't matter what you look like."  
  
My hand shook as I unlocked the door. I kept my head down, refusing to look at Soda as he stepped in, quietly closing the door on Darry and Steve who were hovering in the kitchen.  
  
"Let's see," Soda said softly, touching one of the remaining clumps of red. It pulled off easily. I fought tears.  
  
"Oh hell, Soda, what's it matter?" I moaned. "I'm can't sleep or eat and I look like I'm dead already, I might as well not have hair too."  
  
"Hey!" Soda snapped, seizing my shoulders roughly. "Shutup talking like that. It ain't that bad. This is normal anyway. Let's just comb it out and get you a hat. Okay? Huh?"  
  
I hung my head in silence. Soda picked up a comb and ran it lightly, pulling the hairs loose. Only a few hurt. I thought back to Windrixville, Johnny's switchblade tugging sharply as he sliced the strands off. Soda did his best to be gentle and reassuring. As always.  
  
I don't deserve him, I thought suddenly. Steve's right to be mad at me. Soda does everything for me.  
  
"There," he said, taking the DX cap off his head and adjusting it to fit mine. "See, not that bad with a hat. You look tough."  
  
"Sure," I mumbled, avoiding my reflection. I tried hard not to cry. I really did. But the stress was building inside me and I couldn't fight it back down, and I felt warm tears running over my face.  
  
"It's okay," Soda murmured, wiping my cheeks with the back of his hand. "Worst things can happen, right? This shows that the chemo's doin' something. And that's what we want, right?"  
  
I nodded weakly. "I just wish it was over," I mumbled. I stared at my reflection again. My own face scared me. "But look at me, Soda! I look terrible."  
  
"You're still our brother," he said simply, not bothering to look in the mirror. "Come on and try to eat somethin'. You can keep my cap." He flashed me his brightest smile, and I couldn't help but grin back.  
  
"You're nuts," I told him.  
  
"I try." He started to open the door, but I stopped him.  
  
"Soda?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Thanks."  
  
He turned and smiled at me, and suddenly I didn't care whether I deserved him or not; I loved him too much to care. 


	26. Part III:Hope

Part III: Hope  
  
(Two-Bit)  
  
"Hey Two-Bit."  
  
I spun around to see Cherry Valence leaning out the window of her car three blocks from the Curtis' house. "Hey, Cherry."  
  
She bit her lip. "How's Ponyboy?"  
  
"We'll know this afternoon," I said slowly. "He's headin' to the Doc's for more x-rays and stuff."  
  
Pony'd lost all his hair; we never saw him without Soda's DX cap jammed tightly over his scalp. He didn't look any better, but none of us said anything, because Pony was so miserable already.  
  
"It's only been a month and a half," Cherry said slowly.  
  
"Closer to two."  
  
"Don't these things usually take longer?"  
  
I sighed and fumbled for my cigarettes. Talking about Pony always made me want to smoke. "The Curtis' are broke." That was putting it mildly.  
  
"I'm goin' to go into Mom and Dad's savings," Darry'd told Soda, who'd later told me. "They were supposed to put him through college, but that ain't happenin' now. Not unless we beat this thing."  
  
We weren't as hopeful as we'd been before. Cherry and some others from Pony's school had stopped by to see him and leave donations, and some local churches had run the story and given checks, but the fact was that none of it was enough. Money-wise it wasn't enough.  
  
But it wasn't just money: Pony was only half a person nowadays. There was no relief to his coughing or vomiting. I guess we'd been expecting a miracle, or at least a partial one. We thought he'd start chemo and it would all be better. None of us had been prepared for this.  
  
Cherry stared out the windshield. "How is he..emotionally?"  
  
I blew out a breath of smoke before answering. "Not great."  
  
She nodded. "Some kids at school said they wanted to see him, but Darry told them he didn't want visitors."  
  
"He doesn't. Except for us. And some days not even us. Not since he lost his hair awhile back."  
  
"Look," she said, thinking, "summer's coming up. If they need help during the day, would you tell them I could..."  
  
"Baby-sit him?" I grinned at her. "Sure, I guess."  
  
"Not really baby-sit. He's my friend, too. He made me realize that not all of you..are what they say you are...you dig?" she said, blushing slightly. I grinned at her.  
  
"I dig fine, baby."  
  
She flashed me a grin. "See ya around."  
  
"I'll keep you updated," I called as she started her car. She nodded and pulled away. I watched her drive off, almost wishing this was the black and white time of Socs versus Greasers, instead of this hopeless mess of gray that was all our conflicting emotions mixed up at once.  
  
We'll know tonight, I thought, kicking at an empty beer bottle as I started down the street. We'll know tonight if there's any hope left. 


	27. Soda

Note: I've been trying to post a note on Bastian's story and it's not working. So here goes: I'm confused by the review you wrote. I never posted anything about our stories being similar, I'm not mad and never was. I've been reading and enjoying your story and I'm glad you at least started reading mine. Whatever the confusion was, I hope you're not offended by me, because whatever review you received was not mine. Keep writing.  
  
(Soda)  
  
"What's taking so long?" I impatiently asked Darry, remembering the night Pony was diagnosed.  
  
"Relax. You're making me nervous," my brother mumbled, his head bent over a pile of forms.  
  
"What are you filling out now?"  
  
"The same stuff I've filled out fifteen hundred times before. I swear they just throw these things out."  
  
I lit a cigarette; I knew I shouldn't be smoking, but I couldn't help it. I was never this anxious. We'd find out tonight whether there was any point in continuing chemo or if the cancer had advanced too far to save him.  
  
It's going to be fine, I told myself. Everything's going to be fine, and you'd better figure out some way to get a grip because Pony's gonna be in a lot worse shape than you and you've got to be strong for him.  
  
It had always amazed what a profound effect I had on my younger brother. Even when he was little, still a baby, he'd stop crying the moment I walked into a room. Growing up, he asked for me more than both of my parents when he was sick or had nightmares. He'd had the same one for weeks on end after Mom and Dad died; sometimes he'd wake up screaming and Darry and I would come running, other times I'd find him on the floor beside my bed in the morning. But when I finally moved into his room and started sleeping with him they'd nearly stopped altogether. And now, through this, the nightmare none of us could wake up from, I was the one he wanted the most often.  
  
I don't understand it, I thought, watching my frowning older brother. I felt bad for Darry; he tried, he really did, but when Pony got scared or really miserable he wanted me and me alone. It scared me sometimes, how badly he needed me, but not half as much as I was frightened by how much I needed him.  
  
He's never judged me, I thought. He's never left me either. Not like Sandy.  
  
Sandy...  
  
I lit another cigarette, pacing down the hallway, hating myself. Sandy always came up when I worried about Pony; it had the week Pony had run away.  
  
"I love you, Soda," she'd told me over the phone. "But not enough to give up my chance of a life. Marrying you is a ticket to nowhere, hon. We'll live in this crappy neighborhood and raise hoods....damnit, baby, please, that ain't the life I want. I've gotta get outta here. There's nothin' for me here. There's only you, and you gotta take care of your brothers right now. I ain't mad, honey. I just gotta go. Let me go."  
  
I never could deny you, Sandy.  
  
Do you still love her? I asked myself, pausing in front of the windows at the end of the hallway. Do I? Does it even matter?  
  
A door down the hall opened. "You can pick him up and wait in my office," the doctor said, leaving the door to X-ray open. Darry called to me. I ground out my cigarette, guilt-ridden.  
  
Sandy doesn't matter anymore. Pony does. Pony's all that matters, until he's better, which he will be soon.  
  
I followed Darry into x-ray. Ponyboy was seated on a table covered with a clean white paper. He had on a t-shirt and jeans, but they both swallowed him. I reminisced about the time he was well-built, too big for me to carry. I could lift him easily now, although Darry usually did when he had to.  
  
"Hey little buddy," Darry said softly, squeezing Pony's shoulder. "You wanna head down to the doc's office?"  
  
"They took my hat," my brother said softly. "Will you find it for me?"  
  
Darry nodded and left the room. Pony raised his eyes to mine; his lips were shaking ever so slightly, although he tried to smile.  
  
"Don't think I've ever been scarder," he mumbled. He rubbed the palms of his hands anxiously on his pants.  
  
"Hey, we're nervous too," I grinned. "But it'll be fine, all right? And if it ain't, we'll try something else."  
  
Pony grinned back. "Glory, Soda," he said with a half-laugh, "you never stop smilin'." I saw the adoration in his eyes and grinned wider. Why not? I had lots to smile about. 


	28. Darry

(Darry)  
  
"How the hell can he sleep now?" Soda mumbled, staring at Pony, who was curled up in the chair beside mine with his head in my lap. I shrugged.  
  
"He's not usually out this long. And chemo makes him tired. "  
  
Soda sighed and smacked a pack of cigarettes against the palm of his hand nervously. "It don't just make him tired."  
  
I shushed him, worried that Pony would hear. He always did think of himself as a burden; even now, when I knew deep down he understood how important he was to us. We'd certainly never stopped showing him. "Think I can smoke in here?" Soda whispered.  
  
"No. You shouldn't be smokin' anyway," I snapped.  
  
"Geeze Dar," Soda grinned, "you're soundin' more like Dad every day, know that?"  
  
I just sighed. I never had imagined myself doing this when I was in high school. I'd thought I'd go somewhere, someday.  
  
Maybe I still will, I thought wistfully. When Pony's better. Because he will get better. He has to.  
  
"Hey," Soda interrupted my thoughts. "Have you heard from the state?"  
  
That caught me off guard. "I talked to a social worker about what's been goin' on," I said slowly.  
  
"What? When?"  
  
"When I asked them for money."  
  
Soda's eyes widened. "You did that?"  
  
"We had to," I said simply. Soda bit his lip but left it alone. I don't think he really understood how bad off we were going to be when this was over, although I was usually up front with him about money matters. We'd become partners when my parents died, running the house together, trying to make things as normal as possible for Pony's sake. The doctor had recommended it to me when I took him to the doctor's for his nightmares.  
  
We were doomed financially, but that didn't matter anymore. I didn't even care if they took Pony away after this was done, so long as he was alive and healthy. It would hurt, Soda would cry, I would be miserable, but I'd know that he was there at least. That's all I wanted: to know that he was going to be with us for a long, long time, even if 'with us' meant out of the house.  
  
I'd fight for you, I thought, watching the rise and fall of my youngest brother's chest, I would, don't get me wrong. Because I want you with us; but I want you to live more. And as long as you're healthy it doesn't matter where you go, as long as you come back to us one day.  
  
Pony started coughing, spitting blood onto the knee of my jeans. Soda leapt up and grabbed some tissues off the doctor's desk to wipe his mouth and my pants with.  
  
"Damn it," Ponyboy mumbled, sitting up. "I'm sorry, Dar..........."  
  
"Don't worry about it," I murmured. "These are old anyway."  
  
My youngest brother rubbed his eyes and adjusted Soda's old DX cap on his head. "Did the doc come yet?" "Not yet."  
  
Pony bit his lip, then caught sight of Soda's cigarettes. "What're you doing with those?"  
  
Soda grinned brightly. I swear he never stopped grinnin', even now when we all felt sick from anxiety. "Swiped 'em off of Steve."  
  
Pony grinned back, but it wasn't the same smile he'd had two months before. He looked old. Like an old man in an unnourished child's body.  
  
"'Evenin'," the doctor greeted us with a curt nod as he entered and shut the door. We all sat up straighter; my heart started pounding. Pony rubbed the palms of his hands---I knew they were sweating---over his jeans as we watched the doctor sit behind his desk, waiting for him to speak. 


	29. Steve

(Steve)  
  
"Any word?" I called to Two-Bit, who had a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other. "Nope. Don't reckon they'd call their own house, would they?"  
  
"What are ya doin' hangin' around their front porch anyway?" I asked, dropping down beside him. Two-Bit shrugged.  
  
"Wanna weed?"  
  
"Yeah. I lost my pack." I had a feeling that Soda had swiped them, but I let it go because I knew how nervous he was about the doctor's. Two-Bit and I smoked in silence for a moment. "You drunk?" I finally asked him.  
  
"Not yet."  
  
Glory, he's nervous too, I realized, feeling out of it. I was hopeful; I certainly didn't want this going on any longer. But I felt oddly detached. I mean, the kid wasn't going to die. It was that simple. If the chemo hadn't worked they'd just try something else. I worried more about the state snooping around and taking Soda and Pony away than I was about Pony getting better.  
  
"Wanna go see a flick?" Two-Bit asked, leaping up from the steps.  
  
"Not really."  
  
"Neither do I, but shoot, I ain't gonna sit here all night worryin'."  
  
He had a point. I ground out my cigarette butt and trailed along after him. We were silent until we were well passed Johnny's old house---his parents had split up after he died---and were on our way toward town.  
  
"I'm gettin' a raise," Two-Bit finally said.  
  
"You?" I laughed.  
  
"Yup. Told my boss why I started working. Guess this is his contribution."  
  
I glanced at him, then lit another cigarette from the pack he held out. "Curtis' are broke, ain't they?"  
  
Two-Bit took a long drink from his beer can before answering. "Oh yeah. Darry hasn't told Pony though, so don't you either."  
  
"I won't. Does the state know?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
We walked silently again. It was weird having three friends who were all related. Scary. Because with one of them so sick we were losing all three.  
  
"Wish we had more friends," Two-Bit spoke my own thoughts, laughing at himself. "I sound like a Godamned girl."  
  
I grinned at him, but I suddenly missed Dallas and Johnny. It'd been awhile since I thought about them. I'd been too wrapped up in the cancer thing.  
  
"Wanna go to Buck's and get drunk?" Two-Bit asked.  
  
"Yup," I answered, so we turned and cut toward the lot and back toward the jockey's house. 


	30. Ponyboy

(Pony)  
  
I'm not going to cry, I'm not going to cry, whatever he says, I'm not going to cry..........  
  
"I'll be honest," the doctor said calmly, and my heart sank as he pulled the new set of x-rays from their folder and held them up for us to see.  
  
There were the tumors (I remembered the first time I'd seen them, confused as to what they were and what they meant. I never suspected this; certainly never suspected all the pain. But what do they mean now?).  
  
"Notice any change?" the doctor asked. I wanted to punch him. All he was doing was dragging this out and scaring us more.  
  
"No," I whispered.  
  
"Well, there is one."  
  
The three of us started.  
  
"Is that good?" Soda asked eagerly. But Darry had seen something Soda hadn't; he suddenly went stiff and held his breath.  
  
"No," the doctor murmured, his tone softening. "They've grown. There are also spots on some other organs, but they won't have time to advance."  
  
"What do you mean?" It was hard to speak. There was a gigantic lump in my throat I was fighting over.  
  
Darry put an arm over my shoulders and squeezed hard.  
  
"I mean you have about a month, Ponyboy. I'm sorry."  
  
"No........" Soda gasped, "no, you said there were other things we could try, you can't mean.........."  
  
"Boys, I told you from the start that it was unlikely that we could save him. You tried. You put up a good fight and you did what little you could do. But I don't think he ever had a chance. I hoped maybe it would turn around. But it's not."  
  
"But.......isn't there ANY hope?" Soda wailed. The doctor looked at him sympathetically.  
  
"None." He turned to me. "A month at most," he said softly. "You can decide where you want to spend it. You'll have to come here eventually, because you'll need oxygen to breathe. And you'll eventually be bed-ridden. I'll prescribe you pain medication. Once the chemo's all out of your system you should be able to eat again." He stopped, and, for the first time, really looked at me and my brothers. "Why don't I give you a few minutes alone," he finally said softly.  
  
"We'd appreciate it," Darry nearly whispered. Soda was white. I just lowered my head and stared at the sweat that had risen in the crevices of my palms.  
  
I'm not going to cry, I'm not going to cry, I'm not going to cry.................  
  
I want Mom and Dad, I thought acheingly, I need them here, I want my Mom to hold me and rock me like she did when I was little, I want Dad to say just the right thing, like he always did, I wanted them to tell me how to do this. I was sweating and shaking and wiping vainly at the tears I just couldn't stop.  
  
This time next month I might not be here, I realized, I'll be gone and Darry and Soda will be burying me or getting ready to. I remembered Soda telling me that they wouldn't let me go through this alone; but they had to. They couldn't leave with me.  
  
"Pony," Darry murmured, his arm still around me. "I'm sorry............"  
  
I heard something I never had before in my oldest brother's voice: I heard despair. I closed my eyes tight, repeating my chant over and over: I'm not going to cry, I'm not going to cry, I'm not going to cry.................but the tears came anyway.  
  
There's no hope, I thought as Darry moved to hold me and I buried my face in his shoulder.  
  
None. 


	31. Soda

(Soda)  
  
"Want me to stay with you tonight?" I asked softly as Pony sat on the edge of our bed. His eyes were bright red, redder than I'd seen them in a long time, but he'd really let himself go in the doctor's office. I'd held him and Darry'd rubbed his back, but there was nothing we could say. This was worse than the night we'd found out he was sick, because at least then there was some kind of hope.  
  
Pony nodded weakly. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep though," he murmured.  
  
"So we'll talk."  
  
My brother's hands began shaking. I just put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Darry came in with a glass of water and a clean pair of sweatpants for him to sleep in.  
  
"You wanna eat something?" he asked awkwardly. Everything felt awkward: walking to the parking lot, the long ride home, coming into the house. What do you say to a kid who just found out how sick he really is? We're supposed to go on like everything's normal, but nothing's the same. There's no hope of anything ever being the same.  
  
"I still feel sick," Pony whispered, kicking his shoes off. Darry nodded, thrusting his fists in his pockets.  
  
"I'll stay home tomorrow," he said slowly, but my younger brother shook his head. "I'll be okay, Dar. We can't afford a day off."  
  
"Don't worry about that stuff, kid..."  
  
"Well, I do, 'cause you're gonna be in trouble because of me." He sighed heavily, his eyes filling again.  
  
"Don't talk like that," I snapped, squeezing his shoulder. Pony just lay down without changing or taking his hat off.  
  
"I just wanna sleep," he said suddenly, completely contradicting what he'd said a few minutes ago. Darry and I exchanged a glance. My older brother looked miserable. I felt my heart dropping farther. Poor Darry. He'd tried so hard. Just when him and Pony were finally getting along this thing had hit, and now there was no chance for the three of us to become a normal family again.  
  
"All right," Darry said softly, frowning as he watched Ponyboy curl up on the bed. He glanced at me and I nodded ever so slightly; I knew he wanted me to open him up. But I didn't know exactly how to do that: I didn't know if Pony really knew what he was feeling.  
  
I stayed perched beside my younger brother, even after Darry had left and shut the door. I reached and began giving him a back-rub, starting hard at first to work the tension out of his shoulders, then gradually growing lighter.  
  
"You tryin' to put me to sleep?" Pony murmured.  
  
"Yup."  
  
He smiled; faintly, so faint I barely caught it. But that was some kind of sign, probably a good one, which is what I really wanted to see.  
  
I pulled off my shoes and socks and changed into sweats. Pony didn't move.  
  
"Should I turn the light off?" I asked.  
  
"It doesn't matter," he mumbled, his voice strained. I flicked the light off but opened the slits on the blinds so the room was lighter than usual. Pony didn't say a word as I slid beside him under the covers, or when I tossed an arm around him, or when I asked him if he was all right. I was almost asleep before he spoke at all.  
  
"Soda?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Silence. Then: "I'm scared."  
  
"I know, kid. We are too. But we're gonna be here through all this, okay? Huh?"  
  
He nodded slowly. We lay in silence again, until Pony took a deep breath and burst into a fit of coughing. I grabbed a handful of tissues and held them over his mouth. The blood was darker than before, thicker. I tried not to think about it as I hurled the clump into the trashcan.  
  
"Soda, I can't do this," Pony suddenly burst into tears. "I'm so scared."  
  
"Listen," I murmured, my arm back around him. "Just concentrate on now, okay? It's the future that's scary. So take it on day at a time. You're safe now. You're okay. Just relax and don't think about it anymore tonight."  
  
"But I don't wanna leave!" he wailed, nearly screaming, "I'm going to have to go alone and I don't know what's gonna happen to me..."  
  
"Stop," I ordered, hugging him tight. "Please stop, kiddo. No more tonight, okay? You're safe. You're with me."  
  
Pony sniffed and gradually stopped crying, his head resting against my chest. I talked; I don't even know what I said. I just droned on in a low voice, calming him down, putting him out, once again amazed at how easily I could.  
  
I'll get you through this, I thought as he closed his eyes.  
  
I'm with you to the end. 


	32. Darry

(Darry)  
  
Sleep was not even a remote possibility.  
  
I lay in my bed with the lights off, staring at the ceiling, listening to Soda's steady, soothing voice mingled with Pony's occasional sobs.  
  
I've failed you, I've failed you, I've failed you...  
  
I thought back to the night the church burned down, when we'd gone to pick him up from the hospital and find out how Johnny and Dallas were. I remembered the pain in my chest as Soda swept Ponyboy off the ground and swung him around, hugging him so tight I was amazed he could breathe, Pony's arms around his neck, the two of them holding onto each other for dear life.  
  
I've failed you, I've failed you, I've failed you...  
  
The words played over and over like a pre-recorded message in my brain. I'd thought it when he turned to me, his wide, dreamy eyes, his frightened eyes in that handsome but painfully young face. We'd just looked at each other; I hadn't had the guts to approach him. I was too afraid he'd push me away. I'd turned from him, tasting my own tears, and the next thing I knew he was there with his arms around my waist and his head on my chest apologizing.  
  
I won't let you go, I won't let you go, I won't let you go, I'd thought to myself.  
  
But I had to now.  
  
I sighed and rolled over, fighting my covers in frustration. What could I do? How do you help someone you love to the grave? Especially a KID, a small, tortured, terrified kid. Holding his hand wouldn't take the pain away. Telling him it would be all right wouldn't stop the fear. Begging him to hold on wouldn't stop his lungs from deteriorating.  
  
I've failed you, I've failed you, I've failed you....the tape recorder sang to me. I kicked at my blankets in frustration. No, I tried to tell myself, I did everything I could to save Pony, I called the state, I got donations, I got him treatment. What else could I have done? What can I do now?  
  
"Dad," I whispered, not caring if I sounded like a moron talking to myself, "what would you do? What would you say to him? How would you handle this?"  
  
How would he? Mom would have held him. Dad would have argued with the doctor. They both would stay up with him, talking and comforting. Dad would give him a backrub: he'd taught Soda how to put people to sleep, a trick my brother usually saved for me. Mom would murmur soothing words until he was out, then stay by him through the night.  
  
So much like Soda.  
  
I sighed, frustrated again. It didn't surprise me that Pony clung to Soda after my parents' death; he was gentler, kinder, more understanding than me. Better at calming him down. But things have been better, I thought, and you'll stay by him now. Just wait, like you did that night in the hospital. Just wait for him to run to you, but let him know that you're there.  
  
That you'll always be there. 


	33. Ponyboy

(Pony)  
  
It was still dark when I woke up. I lay in bed for awhile, my back pressed against Soda's chest, listening to his quiet breathing, remembering what he'd told me the night before.  
  
I'm safe now, I told myself, I'm okay right now. I've got time. Soda and Darry will get me through this, although they can't come with me. Just think about now. Concentrate on now.  
  
I slid carefully out of bed, taking care not to wake Soda. I changed into sweats and wrapped myself in the robe I'd been wearing while I was home. It kept me warm, although I had to tie it twice around my waist because I'd lost so much weight. When I was dressed I slipped out of our room, through the living room and out onto the porch to watch the sunrise.  
  
The air was clear; summer was coming, although I felt cold all the time. The sky was a deep blue, navy, just beginning to lighten. I sat on our front steps and looked out over our small but messy---when was the last time anybody mowed?---lawn. I thought of the last sunrise I'd seen; the one in Windrixville. With Johnny.  
  
Johnny.........  
  
It'd been awhile since I thought of Johnny and Dallas; I'd felt much more at ease with their deaths after I'd finished my English theme. I'd never told Darry and Soda what I'd written about, because they'd probably want to read it, and not everything in there was exactly great stuff about them. Soda, sure, but I'd hurt Darry enough and didn't feel like dragging that whole episode up again. Things weren't perfect between us, but they were a lot better. Besides, they were both already hurting from this cancer thing.  
  
Anyway, I started thinking about Johnny again as the sky turned a paler shade of blue and began to add some pink. I was supposed to be the deep one, but Johnny'd understood Robert Frost a million times better than I ever had. I'd promised myself that I'd stay gold, because that's the last thing Johnny wanted from me. But I wouldn't get that chance now, I thought miserably. I'm not going to grow up.  
  
A lump formed in my throat and my eyes stung, but I didn't want to cry. I watched the sky lighten and the sun come up and turn everything bright, then slipped back inside. It was still early; Darry and Soda were still fast asleep. Normally it would have been my job to cook breakfast, but food made me sick, although my last chemo was several days ago. At least that's over.  
  
"Hey," a voice said from behind me, and I nearly jumped out of skin. Steve was sprawled on the couch; I hadn't seen him when I'd slipped outside. But he sat up now and rubbed his head. "Got aspirin? I've got a hell of a hangover."  
  
"Sure," I backed away from him into the bathroom and found the bottle behind Darry's aftershave. Steve mumbled a thanks and swallowed four pills without water. I watched, impressed. I'd always thought I was the aspirin fiend.  
  
Steve looked me over. "You look like shit," he said amicably. Good ol' Steve.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
He flipped the kitchen light on; it was still pretty dark. "Two-Bit and I got drunk as hell last night. I needed a place to stay."  
  
"We don't mind."  
  
"What time did y'all get in anyhow? Two-Bit was waitin' for awhile."  
  
I thought, but I couldn't remember. It hadn't seemed important. I'd been a wreck at the doctor's office, and nearly fell asleep in the car on the ride home. I hadn't looked a clock all night; ironic, considering time was now the most important thing in my life.  
  
"I don't know," I mumbled. We lapsed into silence. Steve lit a cigarette and shifted nervously, almost like he wanted to say something. I got a glass of water and perched on the counter, wishing I could go back to bed, not wanting to sleep. I felt like I needed to do something, anything, but I couldn't think of what.  
  
Steve took a deep breath. "Look, Ponyboy....I know we haven't been great friends or anything, but I never should have said what I did. You know, a while back, that thing with Soda."  
  
I was dumbfounded. Steve, apologizing? To ME?  
  
"It's okay," I said once I'd gotten over my shock. I wondered if I should tell him what happened last night; that he wouldn't have me around to hate for too much longer. But watching him then, I realized that Steve didn't hate me; he may not like me, but he didn't hate me. And he was trying to say that. I'd never liked Steve, but then I'd never understood him either. And he was loyal to my brother. I looked at the floor. "Look...Soda really likes you, and he's gonna need some help....when I'm not around.."  
  
Steve's head jerked up. His eyes widened and his face paled. He swallowed, hard. "It's that bad?" he nearly whispered.  
  
"Yeah," I said softly.  
  
Steve began slamming his cigarette pack into the palm of his hand. He paced slowly around the kitchen. "I'm sorry, kid."  
  
I just nodded. There really was nothing else we could do for each other. 


	34. TwoBit

NOTE: sniff, sob I got almost NO reviews for last chapter! Guys, you've all made this so great, don't leave me now! I've worked really, really hard on this story and still have lots planned. Please R/R!  
  
(Two-Bit)  
  
"Hangovers suck," I told Steve as I stalked into the Curtis house. I stopped dead when I saw how white he was, and that he had been chain- smoking; the ashtray on the coffee table was full, and none of the Curtis' smoked inside anymore. "Steve? What the hell's wrong?"  
  
"It's Pony," he muttered. "Keep it down, they're all awake."  
  
"What about Pony?"  
  
Steve glared at me. "Do I havta draw you a picture? There were only two ways this thing could come out, and you know 'em."  
  
My heart sank as I understood what he was saying. "Shit, you don't mean...."  
  
"Hey Two-Bit," Pony pattered into the kitchen, wrapped in Soda's old robe. He managed a grin, but he looked terrible. Soda followed after him, mumbling something about not being able to find his new DX cap.  
  
"Hey, kid," I said, surprised at the softness of my voice.  
  
"You got a hangover too? There's aspirin."  
  
"I'm good, thanks."  
  
"Where's Darry?" Soda demanded, fumbling through his pockets.  
  
"Taking a shower," Pony answered.  
  
"Holler for me when he's out?" he called, stealing onto the front porch to smoke. Steve followed him silently, leaving Ponyboy and I alone in the kitchen. I stared at him, but he simply took his normal seat by the window near the door and stared at the floor.  
  
"Steve told me," I finally said, hoping he'd look clueless and tell me otherwise. But the youngest Curtis just sighed.  
  
"It ain't a secret."  
  
It's true, I thought, something in my chest beginning to hurt. It's true. He's dying.  
  
"How long do you have?" I blurted out.  
  
"A month," his voice caught in his throat, and I shutup. He's scared, I realized, pain stabbing me again. He's real scared, and I bet Darry and Soda are too.  
  
"Pon, you hungry?" Darry asked as he came into the kitchen, shaved and dressed.  
  
"Nah."  
  
"You oughta eat now that you can again."  
  
"I ain't hungry right now."  
  
"You leavin' him by himself?" I burst out.  
  
"Yes," Pony said at the same time Darry said "no."  
  
"Dar, I told you you have to go to work....."  
  
"Pony, I told you you shouldn't be alone...."  
  
"Didn't I ask y'all to holler for me?" Soda snapped, leaving Steve on the porch and coming back inside. "Darry, shouldn't I stay home today?"  
  
"No," Pony said at the same time Darry said "yes." I would have laughed if it wasn't so serious.  
  
"I can stay," I volunteered before Darry could argue with his youngest brother again. "I only got a few days left anyways, then school's out. Don't matter if I miss."  
  
"No," Pony pleaded, "I'm really okay by myself."  
  
"No you ain't, Pony, and I ain't gonna leave you here alone."  
  
Pony looked awfully sad, more than usual. Guilt ridden. And that's when I remembered:  
  
"I know someone you can call," I broke in. 


	35. Darry

(Darry)  
  
"I'm Sherry Valence," the red-head Soc smiled.  
  
"Darrel Curtis," I shook her outstretched head.  
  
She smiled as I stepped aside for her to come in. "Pony's told me about you."  
  
"Hopefully that's good."  
  
She nodded and glanced around our livingroom. I was kinda embarassed; it was awfully messy. We hadn't had time to clean. "Sorry about the mess."  
  
"Don't worry about it. You've got more important things to take care of." She bit her lip and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Ponyboy..........is he alright?"  
  
I swallowed, hard. Apparently Two-Bit hadn't told her when he called. Everyone else had left for work, but I'd phoned in late to wait for her to arrive. She didn't mind missing the last few days of school; her exams were finished, and she'd wanted to help.  
  
"No," I said softly. I couldn't bring myself to say any more than that. Sherry paled slightly, then swallowed, hard. Her green eyes clouded, then cleared. I'd admired her composure, had since the hearing.  
  
"How much longer does he have?" she asked softly.  
  
"A month at most. Doc thought closer to a few weeks. Maybe shorter."  
  
"Oh, God..........I'm so sorry.........I'm so, so sorry.........."  
  
"Darry?" Pony called from his room. Sherry shut her eyes and waved me off. "I'm sorry. I'll be fine. Go see if he's okay."  
  
I obeyed, glancing at the clock---I only had about twenty minutes before I'd told the boss I'd be there---as I headed into my brothers' room.  
  
"Is Cherry here?"  
  
"Yeah, she's gonna stay with you. That alright?"  
  
"I guess. It's a little weird."  
  
"She wants to help."  
  
Pony self-consciously pulled his hat down tighter over his bald scalp. "You'll call during the day?"  
  
I slowly sat on the other side of the bed, closer to the door. He didn't look at me. "Yeah," I said softly. "Soda will too. You sure you're okay? I mean, I can stay."  
  
"No you can't," Pony ended the argument easily. I sighed and rose.  
  
"I gotta go, kid. I'll call you in a few hours."  
  
"Darry."  
  
I turned back to him. Pony met my gaze and held it. "It ain't nothin' personal, I just know we need the money."  
  
"I know."  
  
My brother fiddled with some loose threads on the bedspread. "Just.........I don't want us fightin' now or anything."  
  
"We ain't fightin'."  
  
Pony sighed and pulled his robe tighter. "Just wanted to say thanks, I guess."  
  
I wanted to hug him, he looked so small and sad, but I resisted. "I know, little buddy. I gotta go, okay? I'll check in."  
  
"Sure."  
  
Sherry---Cherry---was tidying up the living-room.  
  
"Hope it ain't rude," she said softly. "Just trying to help."  
  
"It's fine." I really didn't care anymore. Pride was a thing of the past. She wasn't pitying us because we were poor, she just wanted to help and wasn't sure how. "He's in his room, but you can go say hi. Make him take it easy. Soda and I will call during the day." She nodded as I gathered my things. I turned half-way through the door and watched her for a minute, unsure of what to say.  
  
"I---we really appreciate you helpin'. Last minute and everything."  
  
She stared at me, her bright green eyes clouding again. They looked an awful lot like Pony's.  
  
"It's nothing," she murmured. "I just wish I could do more."  
  
Sure, I thought as I said goodbye and headed out the door, we all do. 


	36. Steve

(Steve) "Gotta cigarette?" Soda asked, shifting nervously.  
  
"Sure," I tossed him my pack. He'd been smoking an awful lot lately, but I couldn't blame him. He lit it weed and perched on the bumper of one of the cars. I lay down and slid part way under one and began fiddling with the brakes. "You alright?"  
  
I heard Soda exhale. "No."  
  
Silence again, as heavy and hard as illness. Then:  
  
"You know?"  
  
I slid out from beneath the bumper to watch him, but his back was to me. "Yeah, Pony told me this morning."  
  
"What'd he say?"  
  
"That he's got a month. Maybe shorter."  
  
He just nodded and tapped his ashes on the floor. "Doc was a real bastard about it."  
  
"What'd he say?"  
  
"That there was a change."  
  
"Was there?"  
  
"Yeah, for the worst." Soda began pacing the length of the garage. I just watched him, hating seeing him this distraught. He hadn't been since Sandy and the week Pony and Johnny were in Windrixville.  
  
But there was hope then, I thought sadly. And there's none now.  
  
"I'm sorry," was all I could offer. My best friend just sighed and lit a new cigarette with the butt of the old one.  
  
"I just............"  
  
The shrill ring of the phone cut him off.  
  
"I'll get it," I said easily, heading into the store part. I remembered the day Pony collapsed in gym, Darry's anxious voice, always in charge but filled with undertones of worry.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hi, Soda?"  
  
"No, this is Steve. Can I help you?"  
  
"Yeah, this is Cherry. I.........I let someone in who I don't think I should have............Soda and Darry oughta get here. Now."  
  
I waved Soda over. "What are you talkin' about?"  
  
"Steve, PLEASE just put Soda on!"  
  
"But is Pony okay?"  
  
Soda went white and snatched the phone from my hand. "Hello?"  
  
He listened in total silence for over a minute. I snatched my cigarettes back from his pocket and lit one, perching on the counter to watch him.  
  
"Did you call Darry?" he said finally, then listened again. "Okay. Look, I can't get out of here right now, but I'll come over on lunch break. Okay? Can I talk to Pony?"  
  
"What's up?" I asked as Soda waited for his brother to come on.  
  
"The state's at our house," he mumbled. My heart sank.  
  
"Shit, Soda, why?"  
  
"Because they don't think.........yeah, it's me. You okay kid?"  
  
The change in his tone amazed me. He was suddenly softer, calmer, the fear lines softened. I felt a stab of worry in my chest; I didn't know what would happen to Soda once Ponyboy was gone.  
  
He's gonna need some help, Pony'd told me. But it was more than that.  
  
He needs you, I thought, he needs you, Ponyboy.  
  
We all do. 


	37. Ponyboy

(Pony)  
  
Cherry was up to her elbows in dishes when someone pounded on the door.  
  
"'Course they wait for me to be covered in soap," she mumbled, drying her arms. "Who could that be anyhow?"  
  
"Don't know," I frowned, pulling at Soda's old DX cap. I wished my hair would grow back. Cherry tossed the towel on the now clean counter and called "I'm coming!"  
  
I slipped back into my room. I didn't like people to see me looking as bad as I did. I heard the door open and Cherry's soft greeting, answered by a polite but curt male voice. Five minutes later I heard footsteps coming toward my room, and a very pale Cherry poked her head in.  
  
"Ponyboy," she murmured, "someone from the state is here."  
  
"What?" I gasped, then burst into a coughing fit. I reached for the tissues; too late. Blood splattered all over the sleeve of my robe, and Cherry gasped.  
  
"Oh my God! Pony, are you all right?"  
  
I nodded. "It's normal," I tried to explain, but not before the social worker appeared in the doorway. "Coughing up blood is normal?" he asked sharply. I nodded and tried to clean my sleeve off as best as I could. "Is it also normal for your brothers to leave you alone during the day?"  
  
"I ain't alone," I gestured impatiently toward Cherry.  
  
"Are you normally?"  
  
"What's it matter?"  
  
"What's it matter? Ponyboy, as I understand it, you have terminal cancer."  
  
"You savvy well," I snapped, trying hard not to shake. I wanted Darry, badly. He was always so quick on his feet when defending us. He'd explain everything; he always good, and everyone listened to and respected him because he was smart and strong and had sacrificed so much for us.  
  
"I think I'd better go call your brothers," Cherry said softly, slipping out of the room toward the kitchen. I was relieved that she had cleaned the house for us; that was in our favor. The social worker opened the door to my room as wide as it would go, then placed his briefcase at his feet, knocked some books off a chair, and started pulling out papers and a notepad.  
  
"I want to ask you some questions," he told me, "and I want them answered honestly."  
  
"What for?" I demanded.  
  
"This is a standard evaluation after a report's been filed."  
  
"What report? Who filed a report?"  
  
The man sighed, but I couldn't care less if he was impatient. "Your brother Darrel, filed. Now, are you or are you not alone during the day?"  
  
But I wasn't listening.  
  
Darry filed a report, I thought, tears suddenly stinging my eyes. What did that mean? Was he trying to get rid of me? Of course he wasn't, that couldn't be it, we'd gotten along so well, he'd been so good to me through all this. But what would he have filed? Maybe he doesn't want me anymore, him and Soda both, maybe they're tired of not sleeping and me throwing up and coughing blood, maybe they just want me to go somewhere else to die. My overactive imagination was loving this one, but I was ready to start bawling I was so scared. Because I didn't blame him if he had; why should they want me anymore? I was dragging them down with me.  
  
"Ponyboy, are you listening?" the social worker snapped.  
  
"I want my brothers!" I nearly wailed, digging my nails into my palms to try to calm myself down. "Well I'm sorry, but I'm not about to wait.........."  
  
"Ponyboy," Cherry poked her head in the door, "Soda's on the phone. He wants to talk to you." I half ran for the phone, ignoring the sudden stabbing pains that were going through my lungs.  
  
"Soda?"  
  
"Yeah, it's me. Are you okay, kid?"  
  
I swallowed hard, blinking back my tears. "I want you to come home."  
  
"I can't get out of here right now, but I'll run back at lunch. Okay? Darry's coming home now though, so don't worry."  
  
Don't cry don't cry don't cry, I told myself.  
  
"I guess," I whispered.  
  
"It's okay, Pon. Nothing's gonna happen to you. You're stayin' put, okay? Just relax."  
  
Of course he'd understood. Didn't he always?  
  
"Alright," I managed. "I'm alright."  
  
"Good. I'll see you at lunch, 'kay buddy?"  
  
I said goodbye and shakily hung up the phone, still trying hard not to cry. I closed my eyes, willing the tears back. I'll miss you, big brother, I thought, I'll miss you so much........  
  
.......when I'm gone....... 


	38. Darry

NOTE: Thanks for the reviews! The outsiders category hit 200 stories! Go us!  
  
(Darry)  
  
"These are unacceptable living conditions for a child in his current state," the social worker told me. Pony sat chewing on his nails and Cherry just looked miserable; I'd told her that this wasn't her fault, but she blamed herself for letting him in.  
  
"Sir," I said as calmly as possible, "my brother and I both volunteered to stay home, but he understands that we need money in order to get him treatments."  
  
"As I understand it," the man said, glancing over his notes, "treatments have been discontinued."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"But throughout them your brother was home alone."  
  
There was no way to make this look good. "Yes. We called throughout the day and Soda stopped by at lunch. I tried to get to work earlier so I could be home by four, but that was the best we could do."  
  
"I was all right by myself," Pony squeaked out. He was tapping his fingers, and I knew he wanted a cigarette, although he hadn't smoked in months. "All I did was sleep."  
  
"Honestly," the social worker snapped, "do you realize what a potentially dangerous situation this could have been? You could have passed out and no one would have realized. This demonstrates a completely lack of responsibility..."  
  
"Sir, I was well aware of all this," I fought to keep my voice under control, "but this was the only option we had. Believe me, I tried, but we needed the money and couldn't go to the state because we ran the risk of the state taking him from us."  
  
"Which is very possible at this point, you understand that?"  
  
God I wanted to hit him. I wanted to hit him as hard as I could. Pony looked ready to cry. He'd been that way since I got home. I was dying to talk to him, because he'd said something I hadn't understood when I'd come home.  
  
"If you were tired of me," he'd nearly sobbed, "why couldn't you just tell me?"  
  
"What are you talking about?" I'd asked, baffled, but the social worker had started talking before I got my answer.  
  
"Yes sir," I said curtly. "But this is not what he needs right now."  
  
"A state hospice would certainly be better than here, don't you agree?" he asked.  
  
"No," I snapped, "because he needs to be with his family right now. That's the only way he could possibly do this."  
  
The man frowned at me. Pony was holding his breath; Cherry slipped into the other room and began straightening it up, but I knew she was listening.  
  
"I would agree," he said slowly, "if I thought your brother had any chance of getting well. But I understand he does not."  
  
Pony made a funny noise and slumped against the table, his eyes shut tight. I glanced at the clock, wishing that Soda and Steve would get here. Soda would calm him right down. Me too, for that matter.  
  
"He still needs us," I snapped.  
  
"But you're not here during the day."  
  
"I'll stay with him," Cherry came out of the laundry room. "I'll stay everyday until they're home from work."  
  
I admired her; she was a Soc, popular and pretty, but she was willing to spend her time with us. And she had been a good friend to Pony all along.  
  
"That's not my only concern," the man went on relentlessly, paying no attention to my clearly suffering younger brother. "I'm concerned about other things, such as how you'll pay your hospital bills, or for that matter, funeral expenses."  
  
"Listen! You don't need to...." I started, but Ponyboy burst into tears at the word funeral.  
  
"Shutup," he begged, burying his face in his arms, "why don't you shutup?"  
  
"Pony," I pleaded, reaching for his arm, but my brother jerked away at the exact moment the front door slammed.  
  
"What's going on?" Soda asked, wide-eyed. He spotted Pony and the social worker and paled. "Darry? Is everything okay?"  
  
"He's gonna take me away," Pony sobbed, looking up at Soda desperately.  
  
"No, he ain't."  
  
"Could we speak in private?" the man demanded impatiently. Soda put an arm around Ponyboy and lead him back to their bedroom, Cherry turned the washer on and started a load of laundry, Steve slipped out front to smoke. I took a deep breath and braced myself.  
  
I'll fight for you, I reminded myself. I'm ready to. 


	39. Twobit

(Two-Bit)  
  
I knew the moment I opened the door that something was horribly wrong.  
  
Steve was sitting on the couch beside Soda. Cherry Valence was walking around with a bottle of Fantastic, but her eyes were pink, like she'd been crying or was close to it. Darry was leaning against the doorway to the kitchen; I heard Ponyboy's soft voice drifting through the wood, accompanied by another, one I didn't recognize.  
  
"What's going on?" I asked, and was instantly shushed by everyone in the room.  
  
"State's here," Steve mumbled.  
  
"What?"  
  
He nodded toward the kitchen. "Keep it down, we're tryin' to hear."  
  
"Hear what?"  
  
"Glory, Two-bit, do we gotta draw you a picture?"  
  
I thought for a second. "Oh," I said, figuring that they were doing a routine check-up. But seeing the palor of everyone's face and somberness of the room, I realized that that wasn't it at all. "Oh," I murmured as realization dawned.  
  
"Shutup, will ya?" Darry snapped. I obeyed. Cherry caught my eye, put down the bottle and crossed the room to me, gesturing to the porch.  
  
"I let him in," she confessed as soon as we were out of earshot. "I didn't realize..."  
  
"It's okay," I assured her, "this isn't your fault."  
  
Cherry twirled a strand of her hair. "He seems awful gun hoe on taking him away, Two-bit."  
  
"Darry ain't about to let that happen."  
  
"What'll he do about it?"  
  
I shrugged. "He'll figure out somethin'."  
  
"He's already tried just about everything," she murmured. I fought the sinking sensation that suddenly hit my chest. Darry had held on to Pony and Soda through everything so far; he just couldn't lose them now, not when Pony needed them both so badly.  
  
"Financially they're done for, Two-bit." I'd nearly forgotten about Cherry.  
  
"Yeah," I sighed, "I know."  
  
"Well, the state didn't."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Darry filed for some welfare, but he didn't tell them that Ponyboy is...that he's not going to get better."  
  
"But they just found that out last night!"  
  
I wasn't liking what I was hearing, and Cherry must have been able to tell, because she softened her tone and glanced around, as if nervous. "The state's implying that he knew sooner."  
  
"That's bull."  
  
"And they don't like that Pony was left alone during the day while he was on chemo." "This is bull!" I stalked across the porch and back into the living room, leaving Cherry outdoors. "Darry, what the hell is going on? Why aren't you back there with him?" "Two-bit," Soda moaned, "this ain't a good time."  
  
"He wanted to talk to Ponyboy on his own," Steve explained.  
  
As if on cue, the door opened and a dark haired man emerged, carrying a briefcase and wearing a frown. He barely acknowledged me.  
  
"I am sorry," he said after a moment. "I believe that you've done your best. But this is not the right environment for a child in his condition. I'm going to recommend that he be moved."  
  
"Then you'll have to move me with him," Soda instantly said, leaping up.  
  
Then I caught sight of Ponyboy; he stood in the doorway, wrapped in his usual robe, the DX cap jammed over his head, looking as ghost-like as ever; but there was more. I'd never seen his eyes that wild, even the night of the rumble when he stood in the foyer feverish and ready to collapse, which he would just minutes later.  
  
He's losing it, I realized, and the enormity of everything that had happened these past few months really hit me; he'd lost Johnny and Dally, lost his health, lost his hair, lost his self-esteem, lost his childhood, lost his life, and just found out that he'd be losing his home; most importantly, his brothers.  
  
"I ain't leaving," he declared, his voice trembling with pain and rage. "You can't make me leave. I'll run away from wherever you stick me."  
  
The social worker sighed. "Ponyboy.."  
  
"No! You bastard, you can't just come in here and do this to us, you ain't been here all these months, you ain't seen me be sick, you ain't helped pay my bills, you and the state can't come in here and decide what's best for us during a couple of hours, that ain't fair!"  
  
"Pony," Darry started, but Pony turned on him.  
  
"NO! I don't wanna hear it! If you'd gotten tired of me you shoulda said so, not gone to file a report to get rid of me!"  
  
That startled all of us. Darry's eyes widened in hurt shock. "What're you talkin' about? I never..."  
  
"He told me," Pony pointed a trembling finger at the social worker. He was panting; short, raspy, wheezy gasps that didn't make any of us feel any better. "You filed for something, and that's what brought him here, you got tired of me and brought him here but I don't care, I ain't leaving, none of you understand that I can't, for God's sake, something's got to go right, something's got to be okay again...." he was sobbing by then, which brought on a fit of coughing. Soda practically flew across the room to his younger brother.  
  
"Pony," he soothed, "take it easy, you're..."  
  
But he never got to finish his sentence, because Pony suddenly leaned his head back, as he had that day in gym and gasped for air---a deep liquidly sound that abruptly cut off as none came. 


	40. Soda

A/N: short but I think sweet. Thanks for all the reviews! Boys this is getting long...  
  
(Soda)  
  
Not yet, not yet, not yet, please God not yet, I'm not ready yet...  
  
The last half hour had been panic. Pony'd collapsed in the livingroom, unable to breathe, I'd started screaming and shaking him, Darry'd grabbed him up and run for the car, the social worker had frozen, Cherry followed us with Steve and Two-bit, and the whole parade of us had run three stop lights to get to the hospital. I'd held my brother's still body in the back seat, talked to him although he couldn't hear me, begged him not to go although it wasn't his choice.  
  
It can't be yet, I thought, rocking him as the Emergency room came into view, I'm not ready yet, we haven't said goodbye...don't let this be like Mom and Dad, when we never got to see them alive again, when the policeman just brought us here, when Darry had to tell us we were orphans....  
  
"Give him to me," Darry'd said, and I'd handed him over obediently, moving to the front seat to park the car before racing after my brothers.  
  
And now the whole troop of us were waiting, milling anxiously around. Steve and Two-bit were smoking, Cherry was on the phone with her parents, and the social worker had gone to the cafeteria for coffee. They all kept their distance from Darry and I. We weren't speaking; there was nothing to say.  
  
Not yet, not yet, please God not yet...  
  
The chant played over and over in my mind. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, remembering the night he returned from Windrixville. We'd been trying to find him when Jerry Wood overheard us arguing with a doctor on his way back from calling his wife.  
  
"You here for Ponyboy Curtis?" he'd asked.  
  
"Yeah," Darry and I had said at the same time.  
  
"He's right over here. I'll get him for you."  
  
But I hadn't waited; the second I'd seen Pony running for the door I'd thrown it open, grabbed him up and spun him around, never wanting to put him down or let him go again. I'd forgotten all about Sandy, all about sleep or fear of the state or that Pony wouldn't want to see Darry. I'd just held onto him, feeling his heart against mine, his head on my shoulder, the warmth of him. There were so many things I wanted to say right then, things I was just too shy to murmur, although I thought them as we held on to each other.  
  
I love you, I thought, something tearing at my chest as I remembered how happy we'd been that night, just seeing him again. But the feeling was the same, happy or sad. I love you. 


	41. Steve

(Steve)  
  
"Hey kid," Soda murmured, rubbing his brother's arm. Pony opened his eyes and stared at us over the oxygen mask but didn't even try to grin. He looked old. Like an old man waiting to die. Not at all like the smiling but shy fourteen year old we'd known before all this.  
  
"He's stable," the doctor had told the group of us, "but he doesn't have long. A week or two, maybe."  
  
"But it was supposed to be a month..." Soda'd faltered and clenched his jaw tightly.  
  
The doctor just sighed and shook his head. "We'll discuss it later," he'd called as he headed down the hall. "You can see him now."  
  
Cherry shifted uncomfortably. "I'm gonna head home," she'd said softly. Darry must have forgotten about her; he spun around as if startled.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry..thank you. Thanks so much. Really, we...just thanks."  
  
Cherry just stared at the ground and nervously twirled a lock of her hair. "If you need anything.."  
  
"We'll be in touch."  
  
Cherry nodded, but we could all see that she was on the verge of tears.  
  
"Hey....this wasn't your fault, okay?" Soda suddenly said. "The state shouldn't have barged in like that, and you had to open the door. Don't worry, please? We really appreciate you stayin' and cleanin' and all that. We really do."  
  
She'd smiled at him before leaving; Two-bit had gone with her. We all knew he couldn't deal. I'd wanted to leave too, but Soda'd caught my eye; I'd just nodded and stayed put, although as we approached Pony's bed I'd wished that I was anywhere but here. This wasn't my brother; I didn't know what I'd do if it was.  
  
Darry wordlessly slipped Soda's old DX cap over Ponyboy's head, but the boy didn't react. He leaned back and closed his eyes.  
  
"I recommend that he stay here," the doctor said, startling all of us as he swept in from the hallway and shut the door behind him. "He doesn't have much time, and this way we can keep him comfortable. He'll be having pains, if he hasn't already."  
  
"But he has two weeks," Darry insisted, "why can't he spend them at home?"  
  
"Because he needs oxygen. He can survive without it, but you run the risk of another episode like tonight's." He turned his attention to Ponyboy, who looked up at him blankly. "You over did yourself," he said simply. "I don't know what you were so worked up about, but you ought not to be."  
  
I saw Pony's hand start to tremble; so did Soda, who slid his own over his brother's to try to hide the shaking from us.  
  
"Do you understand what I said, Pony?" the doctor said slowly. The youngest Curtis nodded weakly. "All right. I'll get the admittance paperwork going..."  
  
But Pony shook his head. "Darry," he rasped, reaching for his oldest brother's shirt, "I don't..want to..not here...die at home."  
  
"What?" Darry murmured.  
  
"I want..to die at...home."  
  
Soda and Darry exchanged worried glances. The doctor sighed.  
  
"I don't recommend.."  
  
"Please," Pony begged, turning to stare at Soda, knowing all too well that his brother would side with him, "not here, I don't want....to die here."  
  
"We'll see, buddy," Soda murmured. "We'll try, okay?"  
  
"I'll come back," the doctor said, glancing at his watch. "But you know my recommendation."  
  
Sure, we knew it; he wanted him to rot away here, I thought bitterly, lighting a cigarette although I knew I shouldn't. "What about the state?" I asked when he left.  
  
The Curtis' looked at each other; they must have forgotten during the panic. Pony's eyes filled, Soda squeezed his hand, and Darry just sighed.  
  
"Ponyboy," Darry murmured, almost pleading, "I never tried to get you taken away. I had to ask them for money. That's all."  
  
Pony turned and stared at his oldest brother, but I couldn't read his expression.  
  
"Darry..." he started, but he didn't get to finish because the social worker cleared his throat; none of us had noticed him slip in.  
  
"I've been informed that he only has a week left," the man said softly from the doorway.  
  
Pony whimpered suddenly and clutched tightly at Soda's hand. Soda shushed him and rubbed his arm again, but Darry just stared the man straight in the yes when he answered: "Yes, sir."  
  
"I assume you'll be staying home, Mr. Curtis?" We all caught the hint there, the touch of hope that maybe this guy would do what he should have done from the start and just butt out.  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
The man nodded slowly. "Then I suppose...seeing you, and the situation's turn...I will change my recommendation."  
  
So they're human after all, I thought, relieved. Darry nodded and thanked him almost as sincerely as he had Cherry.  
  
"Hear that?" Soda asked, grinning at Pony. "You can come home, if you want."  
  
Pony nodded, but his eyes were still filled. I thought of how happy Soda had said he was to come home after Windrixville. But it wasn't like that now. Before, Pony was coming home to become a true part of his family; now, he was coming home to die.  
  
I never got that home crap anyway, I thought, fumbling for my cigarettes again. But then, my home didn't have what the Curtis' did; theirs had love.  
  
A/N: Ugh, I don't know guys. What do you think? 


	42. Part IV: Life

(Pony)  
  
Usually I couldn't remember my nightmares, but I knew every detail of this one. I stopped breathing, stopped altogether, and I couldn't move my limbs or open my eyes, but I didn't die. I heard people talking and moving around me, some weeping, and I felt my body placed in my coffin, covered and put in the ground, but I was unable to draw enough air in my lungs to scream as they buried me alive.  
  
"I'm alive! Soda, Darry don't put me in the ground I'm alive!" I screamed, then instantly started coughing. Soda started beside me, shot up, turned the light on and grabbed a handful of tissues to cover my mouth with.  
  
"Easy, Ponyboy," my brother murmured as I coughed. There were tears on my face and more following. "You're all right."  
  
"Glory," I muttered when the fit had passed.  
  
It was good to be home, although these weren't the ideal circumstances. The idea of staying in the hospital for the little time I had left had been unbearable. I needed to be here; this was my home with my parents, with my brothers. Soda tossed the bloody tissues in the trash and slid an arm around me. "Nightmare?"  
  
I shivered against his chest, and he pushed my hair back and hushed me, in a comforting way. He'd been as supportive as ever; so had Darry, although Darry had also been quiet and almost shy around me. I needed to apologize, to tell him how miserable I felt that I had believed he'd called the state in to get rid of me, but I hadn't had the guts yet.  
  
I'll have to get them soon, I thought miserably, because I absolutely need to make peace with Darry before I...leave.  
  
"Pony, you okay?"  
  
"Yeah," I mumbled. "Soda?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Make sure I'm dead before you stick me in the ground, okay?"  
  
"Shutup about dieing!" Soda nearly shouted.  
  
"Sorry," I mumbled, turning away and closing my eyes. Soda had gotten me through a lot, but this was too much for him. That scared me more than death; I didn't know what would happen to him once I was gone.  
  
My brother sat up abruptly, flung open the drawer on the nightstand and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.  
  
"Sorry you can't smoke," he mumbled, lighting one without a word. I lay there watching him, stunned by the changes in him. His hands were shaking. He took care to keep his face turned so I couldn't see his eyes.  
  
Not him too, I thought miserably. Soda was the most important person in my life and always had been, and I needed him more than ever now. Otherwise he'd end up like me and Darry. But as I watched my brother smoke and thought of everything he had said to me these past months, I realized what was going on: he was refusing to accept the truth.  
  
We all were: not one of us had used the word dieing this whole time. But I am, I thought. And it's time we all just were honest about it.  
  
"Soda," I said softly.  
  
"What."  
  
I took as deep a breath as my deteriorating lungs would allow. "I'm dieing, Soda."  
  
"Shutup!"  
  
"Please, Soda," I begged, "I'm scared. I need you. You said you'd get me through this..."  
  
Soda burst into tears. I sat up and wrapped my arms around his waist, leaning against his back. He laid one of his hands over my clasped ones, sobbing and struggling not to. "Who's gonna get ME through this?" Soda whispered.  
  
I just held onto him tighter, fighting not to cry, knowing that he loved me and that he knew I loved him.  
  
"Pony," Soda choked on my name through his tears, "I don't know how to do this..."  
  
"I don't either," I murmured, holding him tighter, "but I think it's gonna be okay."  
  
Soda wiped his eyes, put out his cigarette, and turned slightly so I could hold him better. I didn't talk as he held me, stroked my hair, just held on tight, occasionally repeating what he'd been telling me all along: that it was going to be okay. For once, I was comforting him, and it felt good.  
  
It was like settling my debts before moving on. 


	43. Twobit

(Two-Bit)  
  
"Hey kid," I grinned at Ponyboy, "you're out and about, I see."  
  
The boy smiled up at me from where he was lying on the couch. "Very funny. But I got sick of my room."  
  
"I bet," I tossed my jacket down and dragged an armchair over closer to the sofa. Darry and Soda had gone to work and Cherry couldn't come over until noon, so I was babysitting---although I'd never call it that in front of Pony.  
  
"Mickey's on."  
  
"Y'all got anything to eat?"  
  
"There's some cake in the freezer. Don't try and cook anything."  
  
Soda came bolting out of his room as I stepped into the kitchen. His eyes were redder than I'd seen them in awhile, but he grinned when he saw me.  
  
"Rough night?" I asked under my breath.  
  
He shrugged. "No different."  
  
I glanced toward the livingroom to indicate his younger brother. "Pony alright?"  
  
"As much as he can be. He's not throwing up anymore. Try and get him to eat something, but for God's sake don't cook anything."  
  
"Soda, you ready? We're late!" Darry called, rushing out from his room.  
  
"Yeah, let's go, Steve's walkin' today."  
  
"How come?"  
  
Soda just shrugged, and Darry and I exchanged a knowing glance; I hoped Steve wouldn't be too hard on Soda right now. This was almost as tough on him as it was on Soda.  
  
"Y'all are late!" Pony called from his place on the sofa. Darry grabbed his tool belt and told me he'd call, then hurried out the door. Soda paused and squeezed his younger brother's shoulder; Ponyboy smiled up at him, a heartbreakingly haunted smile that nonetheless Soda warmly returned. And then they were gone.  
  
"You wanna eat something?" I asked Pony.  
  
"No, not now. I ain't hungry." He was tired though; he leaned back and closed his eyes while I hovered there awkwardly.  
  
"Anything I can do?"  
  
"Nah. I'm all right."  
  
I watched him, wishing I could do something, anything, to make this easier, and wishing even more that I had the guts to tell him so. Instead I crossed the room and turned down the volume on the television, then pulled a beer out of the freezer and cracked the top open. Three hours 'till Cherry got there. She'd been keeping the house cleaner than even Mrs. Curtis used to keep it, and Pony really liked talking to her.  
  
"You okay?" Pony's voice floated up. I startled; he was asking ME?  
  
"Shoot, kid, I'm always okay."  
  
"You're awful quiet."  
  
"'Thought you were sleeping."  
  
"Nah," he sighed, rubbing at his eyes.  
  
"You want something?" I repeated.  
  
Pony looked at me funny, and I shifted awkwardly. "I'm just tryin' to help," I mumbled, "I haven't done much of anything, you know?"  
  
"Sure you did," Pony said with a bright grin, one I hadn't seen in awhile, "you made pizza." 


	44. Darry

A/N: *sniff* thanks for all the reviews guys! I can't believe I hit 200! This may be dragging a little, but this is the last filler chapter; we're moving into the home stretch after this. Thanks to everyone whose stuck with me!  
  
(Darry)  
  
"Did you have a rough night?" I asked my exhausted looking brother. Soda shook his head.  
  
"Not really. A weird one."  
  
"Weird?"  
  
"Honest, I guess."  
  
"Honest?"  
  
Soda sighed. "I'd rather not talk about it," he mumbled.  
  
I swallowed and kept my eyes on the road as I drove. I needed to talk to Pony, to figure out what had happened with the state, and I had to do it soon before it was too late.  
  
"You oughta talk to him, Dar," Soda read my mind. "He ain't mad, you know. He was just so tired, he wasn't thinking clearly."  
  
"I know."  
  
Soda stared at the road, tapping his fingers nervously against his jeans as we approached the DX. "I think he's....coming to terms with all this."  
  
"Coming to terms?"  
  
"You know," he said softly. "Settling things."  
  
I nearly ran into an intersection and had to slam on the breaks, launching both of us forward. "Sorry," I mumbled at Soda's stunned look.  
  
I never wanted to go through this; I never wanted to think about Pony 'settling things' when he was only fourteen. And at the same time I was glad he'd get to, because my parents never had.  
  
What will we do without him? I thought miserably, glancing at Soda who was staring out his window silently. Will it be like this every morning, trying to ward off silence? The house will be so damn quiet. I'd expect him there every time I walked in the door, expect to see him buried in a book or homework.  
  
I've failed you, I've failed you, I've failed you.......  
  
"I'll see you at home?" Soda asked as I pulled over to let him out.  
  
"Yeah. You gonna call Pony during the day?"  
  
"Yup. You really oughta talk to him, Darry. Tonight, if you can."  
  
"I will."  
  
Soda hesitated for a second, than slowly shut the door and turned toward the station. I watched him, something slowly beginning to hurt in my chest as realization dawned; I was helpless when Dally died, helpless when Johnny died, helpless when my parents died. And now I was helpless as Pony died.  
  
I've failed you, I've failed you, I've failed you.....  
  
I slammed my hand onto the steering wheel in frustration and pulled in front of two cars to race to work. I needed to block the thoughts from my head. 


	45. Steve

(Steve)  
  
"You look like shit," I told Soda as he slugged into the station. He just sighed.  
  
"We had a rough night."  
  
"You ALWAYS have a rough night," I snapped, harsher than I meant to sound. Soda stared at me, startled, then just shook his head.  
  
"Steve, I really don't need this right now....."  
  
I lit a cigarette and didn't answer him. After a few breaths I'd calmed some, enough to try and support him.  
  
"Sorry," I mumbled. "What happened last night?"  
  
My best friend shrugged as he scanned the clipboard with the job list for the day. "We just talked."  
  
"That was hard?"  
  
He glanced at me. "For Christ's sake, Steve, it ain't like we talk about the weather."  
  
"Hell, Soda, I ain't stupid, I know that!"  
  
Soda winced at my tone. "Come on, please let's not fight, huh? I can't do this right now."  
  
"I know," I sighed, lighting him a cigarette without his asking. "The kid in pain?"  
  
"Some. He doesn't need the pills yet, but he will." That was upsetting him, thinking of his brother in pain, and I felt an odd, queasy feeling hit my stomach, fear that I tried quickly to turn into anger.  
  
"And then he'll be whining about that," I slipped out, instantly kicking myself. I turned away before Soda could look at me, not wanting to see the hurt or anger in his face. He'd been hurt enough.  
  
"Look Steve," Soda murmured, trying to smooth things over. I just turned on the register and didn't look up. "I know that sometimes you're jealous of Ponyboy....."  
  
"Jealous?" I snapped, rage building, "JEALOUS? Goddamnit, Soda...." the bitterness that had been growing along with Pony's tumors was hitting it's feverish state, the same way his body was.  
  
I just hated and hated and hated....  
  
"Listen," he pleaded, "It ain't bad...."  
  
"What do you mean, it ain't bad? That your way of givin' complements?"  
  
"It's just that...."  
  
"I ain't jealous of your brother Soda, I'm sick of him, I was before all this, the way he always tagged along, and now every moment of your life is consumed with HIM, like he's some fuckin' GIRL! I mean, damn it, you weren't this bad with SANDY."  
  
Soda closed his eyes at her name. "Steve, shutup, I swear I'm gonna break your fuckin' head...."  
  
"Do it then! I'm sick of that brat walking all over you!" I shouted, fury at the unfairness of this whole thing building up inside me. "I hate how he's sick but YOU'RE the one not sleeping....."  
  
"Steve!" Soda snapped, "Ponyboy's my brother and this isn't the flu, this is...."  
  
"......cancer," I jumped in, "I know it's cancer, it's cancer and it's killing him Soda, but he's the one dieing, not you!"  
  
Soda went white. I'd stunned even myself; but it was true, although none of us had had the guts to say it.  
  
We stared at each other for a minute; Soda turned away and drew a long shaky breath, and I just tried to calm down.  
  
"Soda," I murmured finally, touching his shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, it ain't that I don't like Ponyboy, it's just that this whole thing..."  
  
Soda spun around and punched me in the face as hard as he could, sending me stumbling backward into one of the cars.  
  
"Don't tell me this is hard on you," he hissed, "nothing has been hard on you."  
  
And he ran out. 


	46. Soda

(Soda)  
  
"Come on, Ponyboy, swallow this," Two-bit pleaded as I threw open the door to our house. My younger brother was doubled over on the couch whimpering, tears slipping over his pale face. "It'll help, kid. It'll stop the....." he caught sight of me and started. "Soda?"  
  
Pony turned slightly and reached for me. "Soda it hurts," he wept, "it always hurts, but never like this....I can't stand this....."  
  
"I've got the pills Darry left," Two-bit said, holding them out. I rushed into the kitchen and got a glass of water, then came back and knelt beside them, taking the medicine from my friend's outstretched hand.  
  
"Take this," I murmured to my whimpering younger brother. He swallowed the pills with hardly any water, and I sat with him, resting his head in my lap and rubbing his back and shoulders to try and calm him down. Pony dug his nails into my leg and bit his lip, hard, fighting back the tears, fighting through the pain. "Easy, easy," I murmured over and over, rubbing slowly and steadily, remembering how my Dad used to. "It's gonna pass. Relax and wait for it to pass."  
  
"What're you doin' home?" Two-bit asked, perching on the coffee table and watching Pony worriedly. I just sighed.  
  
"Steve and me had a fight," I murmured, rubbing my brother's arm. "But it don't matter. It's better for me to be here."  
  
Pony let out a little sob, and I turned my attention back to him. Two-bit stepped onto the porch to smoke, but mostly to leave us alone.  
  
"Soda," my brother whispered, "I'm scared...."  
  
I knew nothing I said would help, so I just lifted him up and rested his head against my shoulder, rocked him ever so slightly as I had Johnny when we found him in the lot, months ago, almost a year. My brother was shuddering and shaking, short, pained sobs escaping his throat.  
  
"Calm down honey, you'll make it hurt worse. Relax. I want you to try, okay? For me?"  
  
Pony nodded and quieted some, more and more as the pills kicked in and the pain receded, until after about ten minutes when he just lay there in my arms, exhausted and miserable.  
  
"Damn it, Soda," he wheezed, "why can't any of this be easier?"  
  
"I don't know, buddy," I soothed. "I just don't. I wish I could make it better for you...."  
  
He was quiet for a minute, his head on my shoulder growing heavier as he started to doze. I waited until I thought he was asleep, watching him relax, glad that I'd run home although I would probably get fired. And Steve might not be your best friend anymore, I thought miserably, remembering the force that I'd hit him with, him stumbling backward into the car. Why did I have to punch him? All he said was the truth. But why did he have to be so hateful of Ponyboy? He can't help being sick. He can't help coughing or throwing up or not being able to sleep. Or being scared.  
  
Pony's breathing was light and easy, and I slowly inched out from beneath him and laid his head on the couch. I went and got a blanket from our room and covered him completely---it wasn't hard, he was so thin---tucking the cover under his chin.  
  
"Soda?" he whispered, startling me.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Why'd you and Steve fight?"  
  
I didn't want to answer, so I just rubbed his arm and told him not to worry about it.  
  
"It was me, wasn't it?" he opened his eyes and stared at me, his green eyes so sad I wanted to bawl.  
  
"Steve was bein' an asshole."  
  
"He's just worried about you."  
  
"That don't give him the right to say what he did. Anyway, it don't matter."  
  
"But you ain't lookin' good. You ain't sleeping or eating...."  
  
"It don't matter," I snapped.  
  
"Yeah it does," he whispered. "I'm the one dying Soda. Not you."  
  
A/N: catch the connection? How am I doing, anyone bored? 


	47. Ponyboy

(Pony)  
  
"Hey," Cherry poked her head into my room where Soda had moved me after coming home from the DX early. "Do you need anything?"  
  
I tested my chest, but the pain killers were holding strong. "No."  
  
"You want to eat something? Darry said you should."  
  
"No. Is Soda gone?"  
  
"Yeah. The boss said he wouldn't fire him if he came back and worked a double shift." She shifted a bit uncomfortably. "I think he understands," she said softly, artfully avoiding saying any real words like sickness or disease---  
  
---or death.  
  
I swallowed, hard.  
  
"Darry will be home really soon."  
  
I just nodded and wished for a cigarette. Cherry must have noticed how tense I was suddenly getting.  
  
"Do you wanna come and watch TV or something?" Cherry asked gently.  
  
"No," I mumbled. "Could you get me my notebook please? And a pen?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
She brought them both a few minutes later, and I sat on my bed thinking. I wanted to write, but I wasn't sure what exactly I wanted to say.  
  
It was so easy before, I thought. I just told our story. The Greasers and the Socials. Should I tell this one, tell mine?  
  
My name is Ponyboy Curtis, I wrote, my hand beginning to tremble. And I'm....  
  
The pen slid across the page. I struggled to keep it in my shaking fingers.  
  
Write it, I told myself. You've already said it. Just write it. It's the truth. I'm---  
  
dying.  
  
I stared at the word for a minute, my hands shaking. It looked so much more final on paper. I tried not to think. I tried only to write.  
  
I act like I'm not scared, but I am, I wrote on. I know that people do this every day. My parents did. And Dally. And Johnny.....  
  
I faltered again, missing my best friend. I closed my eyes, tight.  
  
(Nature's first green is gold.....)  
  
Johnny, how did you do it?  
  
(Her hardest hew to hold......)  
  
What did you think of lying in that bed alone?  
  
(As dawn goes down to day.....)  
  
Johnny......  
  
(Nothing gold can stay.)  
  
I'm scared.  
  
I burst into tears, flinging the paper and pen to the ground and falling across my bed, my hat slipping off and leaving my head bare. It didn't matter. I didn't care. I forgot about being tough and let myself cry, sob, bawl, pain ripping through my chest. I was tired of being sick, tired of not sleeping, tired of not eating, tired of coughing and wheezing, tired of waking up to an endless, hopeless day.  
  
I want to die, I thought miserably. I'm terrified but I want to die. This isn't living.  
  
I want to die.  
  
"Pony?" Darry's voice interrupted my thoughts. I didn't care that I was bawling in front of him. I didn't care who saw me. It didn't matter anymore. "I'm sorry...." Darry murmured.  
  
I just sat up and reached for him, and he came slowly into the room, sat beside me and held me tight, a little awkwardly, but as tight as he could. Our bodies were so different; he was still tall and firm, muscular and strong, while I had wasted away to withered sticks of arms and legs.  
  
"I'm sorry, Darry," I sobbed against my oldest brother's shoulder.  
  
"For what?" he murmured.  
  
"Everything," I wept. "You've done so much for me and I never appreciated it. I thought.....after Windrixville and all.....that we were okay, but then the state guy came and I thought you were trying to hurt me again...."  
  
Darry rubbed my back. He was quiet for a minute.  
  
"You know what I think?" he said softly. I shook my head. "I think you don't realize how important you are to us.....especially me. And so you scare easily, because you keep thinking that......that I don't," he sighed heavily, "care about you enough to want to keep you here. That's why you ran out of the house when I.....hit you."  
  
I'd calmed down a little, but kep my head on Darry's shoulder. I knew how hard this was for him; he wasn't the type to just say his emotions, and, in his own complicated way, he'd done all he could to tell me how he really felt.  
  
"I love you too," I finally whispered, knowing that's what he wanted to say and couldn't get out.  
  
We both relaxed; we'd said it, in our own ways. We were okay now. Really okay.  
  
And we did it without Soda, I thought absently, we did it on our own.  
  
I was falling asleep, and Darry started rubbing my back to calm me down; otherwise I'd end up having nightmares. But I wasn't ready to sleep yet.  
  
"Darry?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Will you and Soda be okay when I'm gone?"  
  
He sighed again. "Not at first. But one day we will. Like when we lost Mom and Dad, Pon. It'll be hard, and we'll always miss you, but we won't quit."  
  
I nodded, relieved. "Soda'll need help."  
  
"I know. But we'll be okay. And so will you."  
  
It is, I realized. People die all the time. My parents died, Johnny died, Dally died. This isn't the end. They'll be waiting for me.  
  
I closed my eyes, my body relaxed, an emotion like happiness and peace filling me slowly. "Do me a favor?" I mumbled as Darry eased me back on the bed and covered me with a blanket. It may have seemed odd, but suddenly, desperately, I wanted it.  
  
"Sure, little buddy."  
  
"Don't cry at my funeral." 


	48. Twobit

A/N: I've been trying hard not to rush, but I've got to wrap this up, I've got lots of real pieces to work on. Hope this works anyway.  
  
(Two-bit)  
  
"You been talkin' to Steve?" I asked a tired looking Soda. It was late, close to midnight, but the Curtis' had all been on weird sleeping schedules since Pony had gone on the pain killers and needed a new dose every few hours.  
  
"No," Soda mumbled as he scrubbed the dinner dishes. He'd felt bad that Cherry had been doing them every day, been cleaning the entire house and doing the laundry without a complaint. The house had never looked better, which was good because the state kept checking in fairly regularly.  
  
"We got drunk at Buck's a couple nights ago," I said carefully. I didn't know exactly what had happened between Steve and Soda, but Darry and I had easily guessed that Steve had crossed the line and said something cruel about Ponyboy. Their behaviors were so different; Soda was growing quieter and quieter, more and more distraught as Pony faded away, but Darry seemed strangely calm. He'd carry his youngest brother onto the porch at night or in the morning to watch the sun and the sky, and Pony would lean against him and they'd sit in silence. But Soda never stopped talking when his brother was awake; trying to reassure and console his younger brother although none of us were sure if that's even what he really wanted. Ponyboy didn't talk much anymore, but he didn't seem sad either, just quiet and tired. Like he was waiting.  
  
"Two-bit," Soda sighed, leaning on the sink. "I don't need to hear about Steve right now."  
  
I nodded and started wise-cracking, trying to lighten Soda up and block the thought of his best friend: Steve had asked about him, and Ponyboy.  
  
"I don't know what got into me," he had pleaded as I downed my third shot. He was already drunk, or he wouldn't have been talking like that. "It was like I was a monster. Sodapop'd never hit me before. Hell, only time he was mad was the time I said Darry was all brawn no brain...............I didn't mean nothin', really, I don't know..................."  
  
Soda finished the dishes and stretched, looking sore. "Pony oughta need more medicine soon," he said absently.  
  
"It don't matter, Sodapop, Darry's stayin' with him tonight."  
  
Soda sighed. "I know. I just like to be ready to help in case he's in a lotta pain."  
  
"Hell, Soda, you can't fix everything."  
  
Soda ignored me and changed the subject. "You wanna spend the night?"  
  
I shrugged. "Sure, why not? Y'all need help babysittin' tomorrow?"  
  
"Shut your trap! Don't let Pony hear you say that."  
  
"Shoot, Soda, the kid's out cold."  
  
Sodapop just sighed and lit a cigarette. "Cherry's coming by in the morning, so we're okay. We're trying to get time off."  
  
"I'm sure they'll give it to you."  
  
"Boss already said I could leave. It's just that..................we're broke."  
  
I nodded; I'd been giving them my paychecks, but they weren't much, and nothing could really help them at this point. They were financially doomed.  
  
"Ain't the state helpin'?"  
  
"A little."  
  
"Cherry give you money?"  
  
"Yup. Her and Ste-" he bit off the rest of his best friend's name, angry for speaking it, as if just saying the word somehow betrayed his brother. I thought of the pain on Steve's face as he asked about Soda, struggling not to look anxious and failing. I'd never seen Steve so emotional before, but he really did care about Soda; and, deep down, Ponyboy. We were all dealing in different ways, and his was just to get angry.  
  
Soda understands, I thought, watching him look away, his face a mirror of Steve's as he thought of his friend. He misses you too, I thought absently, even as I started rattling on and on trying to pry a smile out of Soda. Soda needs you too Steve, whether he lets himself know it or not. 


	49. Darry

A/N: random. But I like it.  
  
(Darry)  
  
Ponyboy was slipping away quickly; each day he slept a little more and talked a little less. The pain got worse, and he went on stronger drugs. It didn't matter what he got addicted to; he'd never have to worry about rehab. I'd carry him to the back steps at night so he could watch the sunset---if he was awake---then bring him to the porch in the morning to watch the sunrise. He didn't say much, although he did tell me a poem he'd read once, something about gold that I remembered him mentioning when he'd been delirious. I didn't mind us not talking; we didn't need to say anything. We were finally okay, and there was no use dragging out the drama.  
  
"Remember you promised," he'd whisper when I carried him back in the house, his arms clasped loosely behind my neck. "You won't cry."  
  
I wanted to when he said that, wanted to go somewhere alone and sob for hours, the way I never had when my parents had been killed. I would have promised him anything then, just to make him feel better but all he wanted was for me not to cry, same as I hadn't at Mom and Dad's funeral, and that was the one thing I wasn't sure if I could handle.  
  
"Darry," he mumbled one morning as we sat on the porch, Two-bit sprawled on the couch snoring and Soda asleep in my room (we'd been taking turns sleeping with him again), "remember when I was little and we'd play superman?"  
  
I rubbed his shoulder slowly. Soda and I had both been touching him a lot, as if to reassure ourselves that he was still there. We might as well while we had the chance. "Damn, kid, how'd you remember that?"  
  
Pony shrugged and leaned on my shoulder. "I've just been thinkin' a lot lately, and I thought of that. You always got to be superman 'cause you were so strong, and Sodapop was always the bad guy, and I had to be whoever got kidnapped or killed or something and you'd come and rescue me."  
  
He was shivering; it was summer but the mornings and evenings were still a little cold. Not enough to shake over, but my brother was so damn thin. I put an arm around him to warm him up. "Why you thinkin' of all that?" I asked softly. Pony shrugged.  
  
"Just thought it was funny, you bein' strong and all. When I was a kid I thought that you just needed muscles to be superman." He closed his eyes, ignoring the fact that the sun was rising, the reason we were out here in the freezing morning instead of sleeping and warm in bed. I picked him up, and he draped his arms around my neck without a word of protest.  
  
"Remember you promised," he muttered as I brought him back to his bedroom. "You won't cry."  
  
I swallowed over a pain---I wouldn't acknowledge it as the lump before tears---that gathered in my throat. But I'd keep my promise; I had to.  
  
I was Superman. 


	50. Ponyboy

(Pony)  
  
I couldn't tell sunset from sunrise anymore. I'd wake up and one of my brothers would give me pills and then I'd dose again. One of them was always with me; sometimes Soda's arm would be around me, other times Darry's. But I never woke up alone, and for that I was glad, because sometimes I'd wake up so scared I could barely move and I'd start panicking and they'd have to hold my hands to keep them from trembling while talking in low, steady voices. I'd cling tight, whimpering and coughing, trying hard not to look at the blood that would burst in dark spurts from my lips, thicker than ever. Both my brothers began staying with me; I didn't want one over the other; they were interchangeable at this point. I loved them both the same.  
  
Two-bit came to visit every day, but he didn't say much other than to tell me that the school was putting a fund together for my brothers, and that even though it was summer lots of kids were asking about me. I got a lot of cards from friends in my class, ones I'd refuse to see because of the way the chemo had mutated my body. Sodapop would read them to me before I dropped off to sleep at night. They were a nice way to end the day.  
  
I thought a lot about my parents. A lot. I wondered what they had gone through before their own deaths and where they were now. I wondered if they knew I'd be joining them soon.  
  
I was okay with it, for the most part, except for the few times I'd woke up panicking. I only wanted one more thing.  
  
"Darry," I wheezed one night when I woke up with him beside me.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Do me a favor."  
  
"Sure, kiddo."  
  
"The theme I wrote for English....will you read it?"  
  
He nodded solemnly. "Sure."  
  
"This sounds stupid," I had to stop and gasp for a moment. Darry stayed by me, rubbing my arm to keep me calm. "But I want you to try....to get it out. Let people read it.....so I can know I did something....while I was here."  
  
He ran his fingers over the thin wisps of hair that had started to grow back over my scalp. "You have, baby." 


	51. Soda

(Soda)  
  
"You're home early," Darry commented as I came in the door.  
  
"Steve was coming on, so I requested a shift change," I mumbled. My brother raised his eyes but knew better than to comment. "Where's Ponyboy?"  
  
"Sleeping."  
  
"What're you doing?"  
  
Darry gestured to the papers surrounding him. "Reading Ponyboy's English theme."  
  
"Didn't he turn that in ages ago?"  
  
"Yeah, but he asked me to read it now."  
  
"What for?"  
  
My older brother shrugged. "It's about us. You and me and the gang. And everything that happened before this."  
  
I swallowed, hard. "Is it good?"  
  
He nodded slowly. "It's amazing. I guess.....him being so quiet and all....I just didn't realize some of what he went through."  
  
I nodded; I knew him a lot better, although recently Darry and Ponyboy had been closer than ever, closer than after Pony first came home after Windrixville. I headed back to our room without a word, wanting to see my younger brother. We'd been sitting with him a lot lately, wanting to be near him when he woke up. He'd had a couple panic attacks, but generally he was too drugged to even really understand what was going on.  
  
My younger brother was balled up on the bed, the covers bunched under his chin. I kicked off my shoes and lay down beside him, watching him sleep. His hair was growing back in soft, light, curly tufts. His hair had never been curly before, but he doctor's had said it was normal. An effect of the chemo.  
  
Pony whimpered and shifted suddenly. I wondered if he was having another panic attack and moved closer to him.  
  
"Shh, Ponyboy, wake up."  
  
"Soda?" he whimpered, "did you kill a Soc to?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Johnny didn't mean to.." he mumbled. My eyes suddenly stung with tears. He was slipping away, fast, faster than ever, and there was nothing I could do to save him.  
  
"Pony, you're home," I soothed, slipping an arm over him. "All that's done with. You're safe now. You're with me."  
  
"Stay...."  
  
"I will."  
  
My brother sighed, closing his eyes again, then shuddered violently. "Oh Soda.....I'm so cold...."  
  
I fought my tears back and pulled him closer. He was so light, light enough that I could rest his head on my shoulder and hug him with both arms without feeling any pain from his body on top of my arm. I held him tight, pulling the blanket higher up. "It's okay, Pon," I murmured. "It's okay, honey."  
  
He closed his eyes, his face pressed to my chest. I couldn't hold my tears in.  
  
He's dieing, I thought, agony ripping my chest. My kid brother's really dieing.  
  
Pony opened his eyes slightly. "Don't cry," he whispered. "Don't be sad..I don't want you to change Soda....when I'm gone, don't change...stay good...because I've always loved you for that...."  
  
"Shutup," I begged, sobbing now. "Pony, please don't talk like that......please don't go...."  
  
His breathing was raspy and wheezy. He coughed, hard, and my shirt was suddenly red.  
  
"Pony...."  
  
"It's okay," he whispered. "I'll still love you.....Soda, don't be sad.......please don't be sad....."  
  
I rested my chin on the top of his head and bawled. "Don't," I begged, "don't, for Christ's sake don't...."  
  
"Don't stop living," he whispered, dropping away, fast.  
  
"Don't!" I shouted now. "I love you, I need you, Pony for God's sake don't do this to me again...."  
  
But his head fell limply to my shoulder, and he slept soundly. Too soundly.  
  
"Darry!" I screamed, hysterical as I realized that my little brother was no longer breathing. 


	52. Steve

A/N: babai'ma sheep or whatever your name is, thanks so much for the amazing review. I wish you'd give me your e-mail so I could thank you. Oh well. Thanks EVERYONE for the reviews! I can't BELIEVE I hit 300!!! Thanks sooooooo much!  
  
(Steve)  
  
Work was awful lonely without Sodapop.  
  
I watched the shop alone, working on the few cars that Soda had left unfinished. I smoked nearly a whole pack in four hours; but it was awfully hard to relax. I wanted so badly to tell my best friend that I was sorry, and to see and talk to Ponyboy; I owed him apologies to.  
  
What the hell's wrong with me? I thought, as I wandered home, walking slower than usual. Why can't I think before I act? Why do I have to be so bitter when something happens to people I care about? Soda's always so calm and together, so supportive. He's been by his brother's side through all of this. And all I've done is drive him away.  
  
I'll call when I get home, I thought, lighting a cigarette. Maybe if I tell him I'm sorry he'll think about forgiving me. Two-bit said he was upset too, just too proud to admit anything. And he has so much to worry about with Ponyboy. It'll be all right.  
  
I blew smoke to the sky and wondered how long the youngest Curtis really had. I hoped long enough for me to talk to him one last time.  
  
I'll be there for Soda, I told myself as my house came in to view. I'll help him through this, and then he'll know I care, even if I'm not that good at showing it.  
  
I tossed my cigarette butt away as I climbed the stairs to my house. My father was out; that was good. He wouldn't be there to holler and throw me out, although he probably would later, because no car usually meant he was out getting drunk. I heard banging around in the kitchen and I thought back to Two-bit and I making pizza in the Curtis kitchen, months ago now, showing support as much as we could.  
  
"Did anyone call?" I shouted to toward the kitchen, disgusted at myself for being hopeful.  
  
"Two-Bit," my mother called back. I threw my coat down and stalked in to the kitchen; she was standing over the stove stirring something and drinking wine straight from the bottle. "How was work?"  
  
"Fine. What'd Two-bit say?"  
  
She frowned, as if trying to remember. "Something about somewhere you oughta be.....oh, that's right. He says you oughta head to the hospital."  
  
I jumped. "What? Why?"  
  
Not yet not yet please God not yet.....  
  
"Ponyboy Curtis is dying." 


	53. Twobit

A/N: I've gotten a couple semi-harsh reviews about Ponyboy dieing. All I'm going to say is that this is my story. If it's too much than don't read it. Everyone has been so wonderful and supportive; this definitely does not apply to everyone. Thanks to everyone who does and who reviews.  
  
(Two-bit)  
  
I hung up from calling Steve and paced the hospital anxiously. Ponyboy was lying in bed with an oxygen mask, but they had already told us point blank that they weren't going to try to save him.  
  
Sodapop had been hysterical when I reached the hospital; Darry had called me as soon as they'd gotten there.  
  
"I'll save him!" Soda had screamed as Darry fought to keep him from tackling the doctor telling them that this was it for their brother. "I'll rip those Godamned things out of his lungs myself! I'll MAKE him live, for Christ's sake, this just can't be happening..........."  
  
But it is, I thought, lighting a cigarette with trembling fingers as I entered Pony's room. Soda was sitting in a chair clutching his younger brother's hand so hard that his knuckles were white. Darry was oddly calm; he stood there stroking the soft tufts of hair that had slowly begun to grow back over his brother's bald head.  
  
"Can he hear?" I whispered, unsure why.  
  
"Yes," Soda said at the same time Darry sighed "Probably not."  
  
"He aint' dead, Dar!" Sodapop snapped at his brother's negative answer. Darry stared at his brother sympathetically.  
  
"I doubt he can hear, Soda," he murmured.  
  
"He can," Soda maintained stubbornly, tightening his grip on his kid brother's hand. "He ain't going yet."  
  
Darry and I exchanged nervous glances. "He's ready to," Darry said gently.  
  
"SHUTUP!" Soda exploded, something so out of character that I jumped back away from him. "He's fourteen Darry, barely fourteen, he ain't ready to die! He's still got time, you'll see, you've always doubted him....."  
  
"Soda," I broke in, surprised by the tenderness of my voice. "It's okay. None of us wanted this to happen to Ponyboy, but it has."  
  
Soda just set his jaw and turned away, still holding fast to his brother's hand. Darry moved slowly around the bed to his healthy younger brother, gently slid his hands over his shoulders and squeezed hard. I saw Soda slump, miserable, and his shoulders begin to tremble beneath his older brother's strong hands. I felt out of place with the Curtis'; this was something they had to go through alone. But I wanted to be there for Pony, even though I couldn't help him.  
  
"He ain't dead yet," Soda said, stubbornly holding onto his brother. "He ain't gonna die yet."  
  
"Soda," Darry murmured, "there's nothing else we can do. It ain't right to make him stay here in pain."  
  
"He ain't in pain."  
  
Darry and I exchanged worried glances; Sodapop was going to take this harder than we thought. A lot harder.  
  
"Hey y'all?"  
  
All three of us spun around to stare at Steve, who had entered the room unnoticed. Darry and I nodded politely, but Soda leapt to his feet, enraged.  
  
"What are you doing here?" he shouted at his best friend. "You come to watch him die? Well, you're out of luck. I'll throw you out so help me Christ, you ain't gonna hurt my brother!"  
  
"I didn't come to hurt him," he pleaded, taking a step closer to Soda. "He's my friend, Soda. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know how else to say it. I came here to tell you........and to see him......." He stared at the youngest Curtis, so still and pale on the bed, frozen. "Can he hear?"  
  
"We don't know," Darry said carefully.  
  
"It don't matter. You ain't goin' near him," Soda snapped, slowly advancing. I stepped forward and seized his shoulders.  
  
"Easy, Sodapop......"  
  
"Don't tell me to take it easy! He ain't got any business coming here!"  
  
"I wanted to say I'm sorry," Steve begged, "to him and you. Please just let me........"  
  
We were all interrupted as Ponyboy coughed, over and over, violently. We turned, hopeful that he was conscious, but no such luck; it was just his body's reaction to the blood that must have been filling his decomposing lungs. Soda rushed back to his brother's side, talking in a low voice although we all knew that he could no longer hear us.  
  
Dark red  
  
(like that day in gym)  
  
spewed from his lips  
  
(collapsing on the floor)  
  
And to our horror one of the three monitors---lung, heart, brain---went flat. 


	54. Darry

(Darry)  
  
"DO something!" Soda pleaded with the doctors. The oxygen mask was still clamped over Ponyboy's face, but it was useless because his lungs were no longer drawing air. Sodapop begged the doctor's to help him, to put him on a respirator, but they just turned off the alarm and stared at the flat line across the screen. Seeing that they weren't going to help, Soda dropped to his knees and seized our brother's hand again. "Come on, Pony," he pleaded, "breathe again, don't do this now, I ain't ready yet! Hold on for us!"  
  
Two-bit moved forward, his face white, staring in horrified disbelief. "Come on, kiddo....."  
  
"Ponyboy, I'm sorry," Steve whispered, over and over, looking as shocked and frightened as Two-bit.  
  
"Pony please....." Soda begged, looking near tears, "don't do this now, don't do this, come on kid......"  
  
But while the three pleaded for him to stay, I remembered---I thought of Pony vomiting, coughing blood, not sleeping, not eating, barely breathing, our little brother wasting away before our eyes.  
  
Remember you promised, my brother's voice echoed in my mind.  
  
Staring at Pony's wasted, tragically young face, I fought my emotions down, knowing suddenly that this was for the best now. He didn't deserve to hurt anymore.  
  
Go, kid, I thought. It's okay. You can go. I won't hold you here. I'll still love you, wherever you are. Let go. I won't make you deal with the pain anymore.  
  
"Don't!" Soda sobbed.  
  
Do, I thought as the heart monitor followed the breathing one and went flat.  
  
"Don't go, don't go, don't go............"  
  
(Go, Ponyboy. Just let go)  
  
"Pony PLEASE..................."  
  
(Please Pony)  
  
"STAY."  
  
(GO)  
  
And then it was over. The final green line that had danced across the screen lay still, as still my younger brother's body, limp on the bed.  
  
Soda was sobbing onto a still Pony's chest, Two-bit had his arm on the wall and was hiding his face, but I could tell from the jerking of his shoulders that he was sobbing, Steve's face was so white I couldn't believe he didn't faint.  
  
"Time of death 8:35," the doctor murmured, his eyes as little moist as he shut the monitors down.  
  
"No!" Soda wept, "nonononono......." he shouted now, suddenly leaping up and tearing out of the room. Steve took off after him. Two-bit groaned and slipped into the hallway, leaving me and Ponyboy's body. I walked to him slowly.  
  
His eyes were closed, his lips parted slightly. There was no more heaving of his chest, no more raspy breathing, no more vomiting in the middle of the night. He was just still, calm, and finally sleeping.  
  
I bent and brushed my lips over his forehead, briefly wishing I'd had the courage to do it while his skin was still warm, knowing that he'd understood the emotion behind the gesture anyway before leaving us.  
  
"Bye, baby," I murmured, my heart wrenching. But I kept my promise ; I didn't cry. 


	55. Steve

(Steve)  
  
"Soda!" I screamed as he tore through the parking lot. "Stop!"  
  
He stumbled, slipped to the pavement, leaning his forehead on the cement, sobs wracking his entire body. I dropped beside him, tried to touch him only to be thrown off.  
  
"You stay away from me!" he shouted. "You hate him, you want him to die, you're glad he's gone!"  
  
"No," I pleaded, grabbing his arm. "You're my best friend, Soda,"  
  
(my voice was so high..)  
  
"I didn't want this to happen to him,"  
  
(blood all over that young face)  
  
"I cared about him too." I begged.  
  
Soda stared at the pavement, his eyes bleak and stunned. "Cared," he gasped.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Past tense," he whispered.  
  
"Soda.."  
  
Soda leaned back, leaned his head to the sky, to the sunset, tears streaming down his face. "Oh God, he's dead, my brother's dead, Ponyboy's dead.."  
  
I caught him as he sagged forward, caught him and held him, and he pounded on my chest, furiously at first, then weaker and weaker until he lay sobbing in my arms, there on the pavement, as the sun sank in one of the most beautiful sunsets I'd ever seen, as if in tribute to the dead boy who had loved them so much. 


	56. Part V: Recovery

(Two-bit)  
  
My head hurt so bad I could barely move. I was used to hang-overs, but this was the worst yet.  
  
Why did I want to drink so much? I thought, moaning and burying back into my bed. And then I remembered: Ponyboy was dead.  
  
God oh God him too Dally and Johnny first and now him that poor kid the poor Curtis' "Honey?" my mother poked her head in the door. "There's a phone call for you. A Sherry Valence. Should I ask her to call back?"  
  
"No," I mumbled, dragging myself up and toward the kitchen.  
  
"Keith, are you all right?"  
  
Glory, my real name, I thought, knowing now that I must look awful. "Yeah, Ma." I'm just dandy. Half my friends are dead when they shouldn't be and I'm just dandy.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Two-bit, it's Cherry. I went over to the Curtis' today and no one answered. Is Ponyboy........................"  
  
"He's dead," I snapped, unusually irritable. My mother whirled around and stared at me, then slowly put a hand over her mouth.  
  
"Oh, sweetie................." she started, but I waved her off as Cherry went on.  
  
"Glory, Two-bit........that fast..........."  
  
"It ain't been fast, Cherry."  
  
"I know, I just thought...................I guess I just....................didn't."  
  
I knew what she meant; none of us really believed, really truly believed that it'd actually kill him. I remember all the encouraging words we'd given him in the hospital, the fliers at school, the donations and letters that had trickled in for the Curtis'. I wouldn't be working anymore, unless Darry and Soda really needed help. They were beyond anything we could do for them now. They'd never get out of debt.  
  
"How are Darry and Soda?" Cherry nearly whispered into the phone. I felt awful bad for her; she sounded so close to tears.  
  
"Dar's pretty calm. Soda...................he ain't."  
  
I'd seen Steve and Soda slumped together in the parking lot as I'd run from the hospital down toward Buck's, needing alcohol as the escape from the scene I'd just witnessed--Ponyboy flat-lining, Darry pale and silent, Steve begging forgiveness too late, Sodapop slumped over the bed hysterically weeping into his young brother's chest. I'd cried; cried for the first time in years. I barely remembered how and once I started I'd forgotten how to stop and I'd just kept going all through the streets as I stumbled to Buck's house. It wasn't just him I cried for; I cried for Johnny, for Dally, for Darry and Soda. I cried for myself.  
  
".............funeral?"  
  
"Huh?" I'd forgotten Cherry.  
  
"When's his funeral?"  
  
Funeral. Christ, they had to have one of those. I rubbed my sore eyes.  
  
"I'll be there," she murmured. "A lot of kids will."  
  
"I don't know when."  
  
She was quiet for a moment. "I'll put more donations together."  
  
"They'd appreciate that."  
  
Another beat. "I guess.........................I'll see you then."  
  
"Yeah. Thanks for everything. Darry and Soda really do appreciate it, but they probably won't get around to sayin' it any time soon."  
  
"It's not important," she said firmly.  
  
We said goodbye. My mother was still there, slumped, her hand away from her mouth but trembling.  
  
"We oughta go over there," she murmured, "those boys'll need help."  
  
"Cherry said they ain't answering."  
  
She shook her head slowly. "Those poor boys," she almost whispered, "those poor CHILDREN. First their parents and now this......................"  
  
"I KNOW Mom," I snapped, harsher than I meant to, but the alcohol was gone and I felt the pain and grief rising dangerously fast again. "I was THERE, okay? I saw what it did to them. I saw him die, okay? And it ain't the first time I saw someone go like that, so just................just....................don't say it."  
  
She looked at me for a minute, long and hard, then came over and wrapped her arms around me. I squirmed uncomfortably beneath her touch, but I was afraid to pull away because the tears were starting again.  
  
"MY poor boy," she murmured, holding on tight as I let my grief go. 


	57. Soda

A/N: Now hear this! If I get ONE review or ONE e-mail even HINTING at slash, I WILL NOT POST THE REST OF THIS! We're almost at the end, and yes, there have been hints in the past, and I don't want to hear them. Stop trying to warp a perfectly good friendship. This doesn't apply to the majority of readers, but to those it does, you know who you are. Leave it alone.  
  
That said, I LOVE how fast this category's growing! Also, thanks for all the incredible reviews. INCREDIBLE! *Sniff* I love all you guys!  
  
(Soda)  
  
I wasn't ever going into our room again. It smelled like him. His drawings and writings were on the floor, his clothes were beside mine in the dresser, his shoes were in the closet. It would be like that week he was in Windrixville: I'd roll over in the night and throw an arm where he should be, and it would strike the empty mattress and I'd wonder why he wasn't there. And then I'd remember and grab his pillow, press it against me, bury my face in it, missing him so much I wanted to scream, as if I was in physical pain.  
  
"You oughta eat," Steve murmured. He'd sat on the floor beside the couch all night with me, letting me lean on him as I cried. I'd been crying from the moment the last line went flat and I couldn't imagine stopping. I'd spend the rest of my life crying. This was just a break.  
  
"I ain't hungry."  
  
"I know, but you gotta try an' stay strong, Soda."  
  
"What for? There ain't no one to be strong for."  
  
"There's Darry."  
  
"Darry ain't here either."  
  
My older brother was out making "arrangements," with the state and with the funeral people.  
  
"Soda," Steve said gently, laying a hand lightly on my shoulder. He drew a deep breath. "I 'member you talkin' about how Pony--" I winced at my brother's name--"always saw himself as a burden, and how you weren't ever gonna let him feel that way. So you can't let him now by lettin' yourself waste away."  
  
Waste away. The way Pony wasted away, slowly dying before my eyes, through the treatments and at the hospital, each line dropping off as if on cue.  
  
I wish I could die with you, I thought, the tears starting up again. I want to go with you, Ponyboy.  
  
"Come on, buddy," Steve pleaded, squeezing my shoulder. "Don't stop living."  
  
Don't stop living.  
  
I remembered my younger brother telling me that as I held him, trying to keep him warm, trying to keep him with me.  
  
You were more like Steve than you believed, Ponyboy, I thought to myself, watching the worry on my best friend's face. You two never liked each other, and it always kinda bugged me, although neither one of you ever said it for my sake. Well, it don't matter anymore.  
  
I put my head down as the tears started again. "I don't want to do this anymore Steve," I sobbed, "who's it gonna be next, huh? Darry or Two-bit or you? It won't be me, because whoever the hell decided to keep taking people keeps leaving me behind!" I slammed my fists into the couch with all my strength. "I WANT HIM BACK!"  
  
And the tears had me again. But so did Steve.  
  
"I'm still here," he murmured, holding on to me, clinging with the same desperation I had clung to my younger brother with. "I'll always be here, Soda." 


	58. Darry

A/N: who else was going crazy when ff.net wasn't working? I can't believe how addictive this stuff is! Sorry for the delay in posting; I've been having HORRIBLE computer problems, but ::fingers crossed:: they're all fixed now!  
  
(Darry)  
  
The long march to the cemetery  
  
(the coffin so light)  
  
Placing the casket in the ground  
  
(silent as it rested in the plot)  
  
Right next to Mom and Dad's graves  
  
(three down, two to go).  
  
The past few days had been a blur. I'd been on autopilot, same as I was when Mom and Dad died, because Pony and Soda had been too grief-stricken to be much help.  
  
Soda was worse off now---he wouldn't go into his room, he wouldn't eat, and he barely slept. He passed the day wandering around the house, crying at the site of anything that reminded him of our younger brother.  
  
I'd made the funeral arrangements alone, and contacted both the state and the bank to tell them that we'd be filing for bankruptcy. The state didn't even hint at separating Soda and I---they weren't inhuman, although we'd often thought of them as just that. Two-bit and his mother and Cherry and her parents and tons of people had flooded our house with food and money and sympathy cards. I tried to intercept as much as I could, because Soda had started throwing things out before we had a chance to sort through them.  
  
"Who gives a damn if they're sorry!" he'd shouted over and over these past few days. "Being sorry isn't going to bring him back!"  
  
I missed him. I needed him, badly, especially now, as we stood their in the cemetery. The service had been longer than we'd anticipated; almost everyone from Ponyboy's class had come, and most of the school faculty. Socs and Greasers stood side by side in heavy silence.  
  
This is what you wanted, Ponyboy, I thought, my heart aching as I remembered his theme and what he'd asked me to do with it. I'll get it out, kid. I'll get people to read it. But people have already come together for you. You did do something, even if you didn't know it.  
  
We'd asked that only close friends attend this, the burial ceremony. I'd done it more for my brother's sake than my own; Soda cried so hard he could barely walk. Steve kept an arm around him. Two-bit just looked dazed.  
  
But me? I felt nothing. I wasn't going to cry, because Ponyboy had asked me not to, and I wasn't going to break my final promise to him. Deep down I knew that it was better this way; if the cancer had to choose him, it was better that he be out of pain. And I wasn't worried: Mom and Dad would be waiting for him.  
  
I'll still love you, I thought. And you still love me. Nothing's changed.  
  
THINGS would change---Soda would cry every night, his cries the only sound in that now silent house. No running shoes in the livingroom, no homework to check, no setting the third spot at the table for dinner, no more of his laundry to do, no finding him smoking on the back steps or curled in the armchair reading. But there was also no vomiting in the middle of the night, no watching him cry at his reflection, no long drives to the hospital while doctors stuck needles in his arms, no more panic as his lungs stopped functioning, no more pills or tears or pain.  
  
Don't worry about us, I'd told him, and I meant it. I'll be okay. We'll be okay, even if it'll take us awhile. We'll be okay.  
  
Our love still exists. 


	59. Steve

(Steve)  
  
"I'm sorry," I murmured to the freshly covered plot. Darry and Soda and Two- bit had gone to their cars, but I wasn't done at the youngest Curtis' grave. "I tried to tell you in the hospital...........but I guess that was too late. It's just that.........I don't hate you, Ponyboy. I'm sorry I wasn't better."  
  
More than that, I thought, running my finger over the simple, cold granite tombstone. I'm sorry I didn't realize how much you meant to Soda, what a big part of him you were. I'm sorry for snapping at you and thinking that you oughta sleep forever. I'm sorry for every time I snapped at you or got annoyed when Soda brought you places, because now I know that he's not the same without you, that you gave him something that I never did, that maybe I never could.  
  
He loves you, Ponyboy. We all do.  
  
"What're you doin'?"  
  
I spun around, surprised that Soda had come up behind me and I hadn't heard him.  
  
"Paying.........respect," I said slowly. Soda nodded tiredly.  
  
"He ain't mad," he whispered, staring numbly at his brother's grave. We stood their in silence for a few minutes.  
  
"Where's Darry?" I finally asked.  
  
"In the car."  
  
"Should we go back?"  
  
My best friend slowly knelt in the dirt and touched the tombstone. "It doesn't feel right...........leaving him."  
  
I dropped beside him. "You did it before," I murmured, staring at his parent's graves. Soda swallowed hard and nodded. We were quiet again.  
  
"I just miss him," he choked, desperate.  
  
"I know."  
  
Soda sighed and rose slowly from the dirt. Darry beeped the horn from the parking lot. We turned and slowly walked away, leaving behind the three Curtis graves.  
  
Three down, I thought sadly. Two to go. But not anytime soon---I'll see to that. I'll look after them, Ponyboy. That's the only way I know how to show you I'm sorry. 


	60. Soda

"I wake up  
  
In the night  
  
All alone and  
  
It's all right  
  
The chemicals  
  
Are wearing off  
  
'Cause you've gone............"  
  
-Ben Folds  
  
(Soda)  
  
For the first time in three months, I stepped across the threshold of the hallway and into what was our room.  
  
Darry had packed my things and put them in the truck. Ponyboy's were gone--- I guessed he'd donated them to charity. He'd kept his books and drawings and a few of his favorite shirts, stuck them in a box with Mom and Dad's things.  
  
We'd had to declare bankruptcy, and the bank had taken back the house and most of our stuff. Cherry had called to tell us that she had donations set up to help pay our debts and that her Uncle owned apartments in the middle- class section of town and wanted to offer us a two bedroom apartment for free for as long as we needed it. So it looked like we were moving.  
  
"It's better this way," Darry had told me and Steve and Two-bit after he'd hung up from her. "It's not good here anymore. Not for us. Too many memories and too much space. Plus the neighborhood's better and we'll be saving money on housing. You guys can still come over whenever. We'll give you keys."  
  
I wanted to go; I was sick of avoiding and pulling my eyes away from the closed door with out untouched room behind it. Pony should be in there. I was sick of finding his shoes under furniture or his shirts in the dryer and bursting into tears. I was sick of the emptiness and silence when Darry and I ate together. Most of all I was sick of sleeping on the sofa; I hated rolling over and reaching for him in the middle of the night, my stomach and heart dropping as my arm fell on the air before my hand smacked the floor, my chest wrenching as I remembered that he wasn't hiding in some church in Windrixville. He wasn't coming back this time.  
  
So why can I come back in here now? I thought as I wandered slowly through our empty room. I knew why; his theme.  
  
I'd read the English theme he'd written all those months ago, read it and cried through most of it, memorized the second page where he'd scrawled: "I love Soda more than I've ever loved anyone, even Mom and Dad." I hadn't wanted to touch it at first, but Darry had insisted. He thought it would help me somehow come to terms with our brother's death, the same way it had helped him to.  
  
"Pony asked if I'd get people to read it," Darry had told me. "That includes you. After all, it's about us."  
  
Darry had been working hard in all his free time to type the theme up and send it off to places. Publishing houses, I guess you'd call them. Neither one of us expected anything to happen, but we thought we'd better try for Pony's sake. He'd wanted people to read it. We'd both been shocked to get the letter of acceptance: "Because of the writer's extraordinary ability to capture social warfare and personality despite his age, and in light of his recent passing, we believe this to be a truly marketable, but above all meaningful, work we would very much like to purchase for publication," the letter had read. People were going to know our side, our story.  
  
I just wish you were here to see it happen, Ponyboy, I thought, leaning against the wall where our bed used to be. Why couldn't we have read it before this happened? Or maybe we never would have if this hadn't.  
  
I drew a deep breath---but for the first time in weeks, my eyes weren't stinging with tears when I thought about my younger brother. Darry was right; his theme had helped me find peace. And I hoped, as I closed the door to our room and walked out our front door for the last time, that it would help others like us. Because that is all Ponyboy had ever wanted.  
  
It was what he had died for. 


	61. Author's Note

Author's Note  
  
And so, dearest most beloved readers, I have given you the last chapter! I didn't originally plan to have an author's note but I feel that I need to now because so many people have been so unbelievably good to me. I'm afraid I'll miss a name, so I'll say thanks to EVERYONE who has EVER taken the time to write a review, no matter how short. SPECIAL thanks to newyorkbabe, sodasgurl, beth, pip, babai'masheep, burnin' church girl, jennifergerbil, dallysgrl, evlgoddess9, and any other regular reviewer---I know there are LOTS and thank you soooooo much! I really don't know how to tell you how much I appreciate the reviews; I never expected this to do so well, nor did I expected all the wonderful praise and reviews. You have all made this so wonderful and so much fun, it really hurts to leave, but I just don't have the time to do another fic right now, although I do have ideas---so I may be back! When is iffy. Oh, and you may notice that helpless is updated from time to time, but no new chapters will be added---I'm going to clean up some of the spelling errors and possibly title the chapters.  
  
Here's my little tale, if you have any interest: I've wanted to be a writer my whole life. I started college-searching last year, and during that very confusing and very frustrating process I became extremely depressed about my writing ability and felt like there was no way I could ever make it as a writer. So just for the hell of it I decided to try my hand at fanfiction. I checked out the category and noticed that there weren't any cancer fics--- and so Helpless was born. I've got to tell you: as I wrote more and more and received the wonderful encouragement from everyone, I also turned back to my original work and realized that most of it wasn't half bad and what was I could revise. What I'm trying to say in my own clumsy fashion is that all of you have helped restore my confidence and made me believe in my own ability. Helpless was written mainly in twenty-minute intervals whenever I had a free moment, and the response to this quick writing gave me faith in what I can do with real time, devotion and patience.  
  
I don't know how to thank you all enough. I don't think words CAN thank a person enough. But in cyberspace they're all we have.  
  
Keep writing,  
  
Antigone  
  
THE END 


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